The Boy In The Manor
by TheAlchemist'sDaughter
Summary: Bruce/Dick, Co-Written with AmberSpirit: "He knew it was coming. He would be a hero... The boy who killed Bruce Wayne."
1. The Boy at the Window

Chapter 1: The Boy at the Window

The controversial ward of Bruce Wayne sat on a windowsill in a darkened room, looking out. He didn't know what time it was, but it was well into the middle of the night. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, but he knew no one would come looking for him again that night. He was free to relax, at least for a few hours. Nothing further would be expected of him until morning.

The expansive grounds isolated the Manor from the rest of Gotham city. The lawns and gardens were a rolling black sea tossing trees like driftwood, crashing against the house where the ivy climbed like foam up a cliff as the waves broke. The city was distant, sparkling, casting a glow even on the sky above it. Dick might as well have been on a desert island, and he knew it.

The wind pulled at the dark shapes of the trees, bending their tips and hauling on their branches, but Dick couldn't feel a thing from inside. The glass of the window wasn't even cold, protected by the vacuum layer of double glazing between the two panes. The inside kept separate from the outside.

Dick was tense with an anger he'd had for so long he barely even realised it was there anymore. He didn't pay as much attention to it as it warranted because he knew from experience that if he did, he wouldn't be able to function. He'd break down. He'd scream and cry. He'd probably end up hurting himself, and he'd be kept home as a result. But right now it was making his upper body turn to stone, and his face contort into a grimace that should, by all rights, be too old to find a place on someone his age. He was just another gargoyle decorating the building.

He had the urge to put his fist through the glass, to make some kind of mark on the place, some outward evidence of the damage he felt. It would be pointless, he could see the city, but he knew the city couldn't see him. He was too small. No one would notice one broken window. That's what his mind told him, but what was left of his hope insisted that maybe someone, some kind someone, would notice that one broken pane and think for a moment about Wayne Manor and the people that lived there.

But that was ridiculous. He knew what would happen. He'd hurt his hand, gets some cuts, maybe even break a few of the finer bones… and Alfred would have it all cleaned up by morning, with a new sheet of glass so nobody would be able to tell the difference. Bruce would tell him not to do it again, maybe bring in his "feelings," and end it, as always, with a concern for his safety. Above all, Bruce didn't want him to hurt himself. But Dick still felt like doing it. The blood would add some much needed colour to the night, and the pain in his hand would distract him for a while. And there was always the slight possibility that he'd tell the kids at school the truth.

He wondered if Bruce was asleep, upstairs, in his big bed. He wanted to know if he _could_ sleep. He wondered if Alfred was asleep. The capable butler seemed to be always available, ready to clean up, erase every trace, always so professional. Alfred, at least, would know that Dick was awake. He seemed to have a sixth sense for everything that went on in the mansion, as if he was more of an extension of it than a person.

It was times like these that Dick felt like he was still somehow a part of the human race, when he sat alone staring out into the night in the silence of the vast Manor. He could feel that their rules and conventions still applied to him. They told him that this was wrong, that it couldn't be allowed to continue. He felt supported, justified, in his solution. Nobody could blame him for what he was going to do, and just imagine the looks on their faces. Imagine the headlines. He would be famous, some kind of hero.

He could see it now. There would be a media frenzy, a legal battle, for a few months, but he could endure it in order to be free from Wayne Manor and leave it to rot without a master. The house was intimidating enough now, but by the time he was done, children would walk past its gates with a shudder and say "That's where Bruce Wayne lived."

But even if he didn't have their support, he would do it anyway. In so many ways, it was the only thing to do. He had it coming to him. Every time Alfred had carried him to bed, Dick had been paying deposits on his revenge and it would soon be his to own. He had no plan, no realistic idea of how he would commit the act, all he had was conviction. He _knew_, the same way he knew the exact second to jump if he was going to be caught flawlessly on the trapeze, he knew it the same way he knew he was a Grayson. It was instinctive, unquestionable. He knew it was coming. He would be a hero.

The boy who killed Bruce Wayne.


	2. The Boy in the Morning

**Author's Note:**Okay, here's the AN I forgot to put in at the first chapter. This is a story co-written by me, TheAlchemist'sDaughter, and my friend, Amber Spirit. I wrote the first chapter (and the second half of this one since she couldn't do it, cheater) but the idea is that we alternate. So she wrote chapter three, and I wrote four, etc etc. I would also like to thank our only two reviewers, KittyInferno, and someone who calls themselves 'Anony-moose'. Thanks for taking the trouble guys. Also, the first chapter was kind of a prologue thing, so this chapter does not follow on chronologically. I think that's it for now.

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_BRUCE WAYNE –A FATHER?!Watch out, Gotham! There are now two Wayne boys on the loose!_

_**The infamous playboy billionaire, Bruce Wayne (32), the owner of prestigious Wayne Industries and who was recently awarded the title of Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor, has been rumoured to have adopted a son. Sources close to Wayne have reported that the boy was born and raised in Gotham until the death of both his parents. **_

"_**The whole adoption process was quick and hushed," our source reported. "It was so sudden… I just can't imagine Bruce as a father. Would he be able to handle the responsibility of taking care of a teenage orphan? I just can't see it." **_

_**While the celebrity playboy Bruce Wayne is known to be a master of the unexpected (like setting one of his mansions on fire during a birthday party-**_**see more on our website**_) nothing could prepare us for this. Could this perhaps be one of Bruce's attempts to stay in the spotlight? But why the secrecy then?_

"_I want him to lead a normal life," was Bruce's only response, after he confirmed that the rumours are, in fact, true. Refusing to add anything more to that statement, he declined our request for an interview. Taking this into consideration, if the adoption has already occurred, the young orphan has not only become the newest addition to the highly-esteemed Wayne family, but also the richest teen in Gotham, although his exact wealth is difficult to calculate. I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only one dying to see this kid!_

_Come on, Bruce! You can't hide the boy forever!_

**THE BOY IN THE MANOR**

**Chapter two: **

"Young master, it is time to wake up."

When Dick felt the first rays of sunshine hit his irritated eyes, he moaned in pain. His whole body started to hurt as if someone had pushed a single button, starting with his head and slowly moving downwards towards his throat… Oh God, his throat felt like he had swallowed some kind of animal that wanted to scratch its way out of him at the last minute. For a moment he wondered if he was even able to talk at all.

"Alfred, the breakfast-" The boy started with a scratchy voice but the butler was already standing in front of him, nodding in an understanding way.

"Whenever you are ready, young master."

"No, it's not that. I'm just …not hungry today," Dick answered slowly, trying to make the old man understand, his clear eyes focused on Alfred - _I don't feel like eating, I don't feel like doing anything other than puking my guts out, I don't want to go downstairs, please understand me_… -

"Master Wayne will be joining you for breakfast today," the butler stated and his voice carried a certain finality in it that left no room for arguments. Alfred probably couldn't read his eyes, or maybe he could… Dick didn't want to think about it. Instead, he focused on the dull ache in his jaw.

Ever so slowly, the fourteen year old boy dragged his feet onto the ground and, taking a deep breath, stood up. The pain wasn't as bad as he expected and his condition seemed to improve with each step he took. His bedroom was certainly big enough for a little stroll.

When the boy turned around, Alfred was already gone. That was to be expected; the old man moved in and out of rooms like a soundless shadow and Dick never heard him coming unless he was carrying a tray. Turning back to face his ridiculously huge bedroom, Dick decided that he should probably start with his morning routine of stretches. He knew that in his current condition, it wouldn't be pleasant, but it made him feel like he was back in the Circus again. He could hear his father's voice at the back of his head, always waking him up each morning for the hated exercise.

"_Daaad, but we're not performing for aaages!"_

"_It's only three weeks. And it's important to keep your body flexible in the meantime. Now get up and start stretching, sleepyhead."_

For the next five minutes, as he performed the stretches, Dick closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere far, far away. Some parts of his body hurt more than others and he had to concentrate hard on not crying out as he moved his limbs in painful angles. Then, finally, he stood on his hands and made one upside-down round around the expensive bedroom, passing the 103 inch plasma television on the wall which was almost never used along with the gaming consoles positioned all around it.

His face was flushed from the blood flow as he finished his exercise and made his way to the bathroom. The image that greeted him in the mirror was that of a boy that looked far better than how Dick truly felt. Looking into his eyes, the boy suddenly drew back, gripping the sink in panic.

"Shit, I forgot…"

They had a biology test today and he completely forgot. Worrying about things like these may have seemed laughable last night, but here in the sunlit bathroom as he faced the prospect of failing a test and Bruce finding out…He really wanted to live up to Bruce's standards, he truly did…

The boy stared at his reflection for a moment, wondering if looking at the textbook now would change anything, but then decided that having breakfast downstairs with Bruce seemed like a more pressing issue. Defeated, he went on with his morning rituals trying to be as quick as possible despite his slow body. By the time he was dressed, Dick could move without a problem and he was sure that a cup of something warm would take care of his irritated throat.

Looking at the mirror one last time, Dick straightened the tie on his school uniform, making sure everything was in place before he went to meet his guardian for breakfast. Bruce always wanted him to look his best and such things as a loose tie or an uneven collar were frowned upon. He checked his face, teeth, double checked his hair, his critical gaze falling on the grey vest with the school's crest on the chest. His shirt was perfectly ironed (courtesy of Alfred) and so were his black pants which in his opinion looked far too formal to be a part of regular school uniform. Making sure that his expensive shoes were clean and presentable, Dick finally stepped back to pick up his bag and made his way towards the door.

As the boy made his way down the grand hallway, it occurred to him that today was Friday. Any normal boy his age would feel joy about that fact but Dick's mood sank even lower. He didn't like weekends. He wished it was Monday instead.

Lost in his thoughts, the fourteen year old passed the large portrait hung near the staircase but he didn't stop to inspect it this time, choosing instead to walk down the stairs without a glance. Yet by the time he had made his way to the first floor, Dick could feel their smiling eyes burning from behind into his skull. He had never met Bruce's parents since, like his own, they had passed away, but sometimes he wondered what they would think about him. Or about Bruce. Did the man miss his parents the same way Dick missed his? The thought only increased his head ache more, so the boy let it be. He hoped he wasn't late.

Dick silently entered what he liked to call "the Breakfast Room" and waited for the worst.

Wayne Manor had exactly four rooms specifically designed for eating. The Breakfast Room in which Dick ate every morning, usually with only Alfred to keep him company, the Lunch Room which he never used because he spent his lunches at one of the restaurants that were located on the school grounds, the Dining Room where he ate each evening facing Bruce at the other end of a ridiculously long table, and the Midnight Room which he hardly visited. Bruce mostly used it to entertain guests and then there was more drinking than eating involved anyway.

Therefore, it was strange that Bruce decided to join him so early in the morning. The tall, dark-haired man usually slept till the afternoon and Dick was used to his routine and Alfred's companionable silence. Therefore, when he saw his guardian sitting behind the large antique table, he didn't know what to do.

Bruce was wearing one of his expensive suits and his black hair was brushed back giving him a very professional look. He probably had a board meeting of some sort and when Dick looked closely at the papers the man was holding, they did seem to be full of numbers and graphs. Despite the fact that he woke up earlier than usual, Bruce looked well-rested and awake. Trying to act as natural as possible, Dick made his way towards the table and sat down. Alfred immediately poured him tea but the teenage boy only had eyes for Bruce.

_Isn't he going to say anything? Am I supposed to greet him now? Oh, God… Am I in trouble?_

After last night, Dick could hardly bear to sit this close to the man. He clenched his teeth, and watched Bruce for any indication, any hint, that last night had really happened. He knew all it would take would be one look, one negligible twitch of his lips, and Dick would vault the table and wrap his hands around the billionaire's throat. He wondered how far he would get before Alfred intervened, if he did at all. He'd like to see the stoic, proper butler get in a fight.

He knew he shouldn't be in trouble. He had done nothing wrong, but he had long since learned that Right and Wrong and what was fair didn't have much sway in this house. He lived in fear of Bruce's displeasure. The fear governed his life, keeping his clothes neat and his grades up, most of the time. Today's Biology test was sure to be a black mark. He wondered if he should try softening Bruce up now.

The man took a quiet sip of his coffee, but his eyes never looked at Dick. It wasn't that he was ignoring him, just that he was preoccupied. That one cup of coffee, in its plain mug, was all Bruce would have for breakfast. He never seemed to eat anything in the mornings. However, it did make Dick aware of the food Alfred had set in front of him.

It appeared he was eating continental this morning. A basket with a few croissants in it lay in front of him, small saucers holding butter, marmalade and a red jam lined up next to his plate awaiting his choosing, and a cup of tea competed with a glass of orange juice and another of milk for his attention. It was all beautifully laid out on a matching china set. Alfred always presented everything to perfection, even if it was just breakfast for one like every other day.

Dick reached for one of the pastries and began his breakfast. The silence was starting to get to him. Neither of the men in the room were talking, and it was making him claustrophobic. It made him feel invisible and worthless. When he had heard that Bruce would be having breakfast with him, he had mixed feelings. Part of him had rebelled at he idea. How _dare _he… But another part was perhaps a little hopeful. Would his guardian finally start paying proper attention to him now, ask him about his day? Take part for once, instead of just take charge?

But he should have known better. Bruce hadn't even looked at him. Dick peaked at the papers the man was studying, trying to assess their importance. He didn't want to interrupt him if it was something vital. He knew he would have liked to have been studying Biology at that moment, and it would have annoyed him if someone had tried to talk to him while his fate hung in the balance. But he couldn't imagine Bruce ever forgetting something the way he had. He was probably just reading over some background information that he already knew, or the readouts on a new design that wasn't due for production for months. That was more like Bruce, knowing everything about everything before anybody else did. Always prepared.

Dick finished half a croissant before clearing his throat quietly and breaking the silence as best he dared.

"Do you have a meeting today?" he asked, keeping his face to his place and taking a drink to further hide any expression he might have.

Bruce looked up brusquely, as if he hadn't realised Dick spoke English. "Mmm, Board of Directors meeting. Routine," he answered, turning back to the graphs.

That was how Bruce answered most of Dick's questions. Briefly, without full sentences, not allowing for any further conversation without a lot of effort on his part. Well, Dick wasn't that desperate today, and he let it drop.

Eventually, Bruce glanced at the solemn Rolex he wore and drained his mug, setting it down on the table with a clunk. He pushed away from the table.

"Thanks for the coffee, Alfred. Have a good day at school, Dick," he said, and he breezed out of the room, gone for the day.

Without him there, Dick relaxed. He ate more heartily, quickly polishing off the croissants and everything in front of him. Alfred's pale, lined hand came into view and removed Bruce's mug to the trolley he used to transport meals.

"Come, Master Dick. I will drive you to school this morning as Master Bruce has engaged the chauffeur," said his cool, English voice.

Dick dusted his hands and slid out of his chair, grabbing his bag and slinging it casually over his shoulder. He jogged down the grand front steps to where the silver Rolls Royce was waiting. Of course, Bruce would have taken the black one to work. He hauled the door open and slid inside before the more aged Alfred could open it for him. He smiled as he watched the butler's lips tighten and his eyes narrow playfully at him through the window. Thwarting the old man in his duties was one of the few things that gave Dick any pleasure at Wayne Manor.

The gravel crunched as the car moved slowly down the drive. Dick didn't like this car as much as the black one. It felt like it had only ever been used for weddings and funerals, probably more the latter, Dick reflected morbidly, whereas the other had a more used and lived-in feel to it. He was acclimatised to it, and he wasn't as intimidated as he had been by the fact that it was a Rolls Royce. But this silver one still had that feel to it, like it was somehow inappropriate that he was just a kid being driven to school in it. Granted, he was heading to the best school in the State, but even that didn't feel like enough. He hadn't grown up around this stuff the way his classmates had, and it was times like this that he remembered that the most.

"Thunderbirds are go," said Alfred congenially, and quietly, as if it was more to himself than to Dick.

"What?" answered the boy, perplexed.

"Nothing, young master. I just always feel a bit like Parker when driving this car," Alfred replied, checking the rear-view mirror.

"Who?" said Dick, feeling free to laugh a little as Wayne Manor shrank behind them.

"Perhaps that was a bit before your time, Sir."

Dick laughed a little more, before growing silent as they slid through the city towards the school. He watched the world glide by from inside the car, insulated, wondering who all the people were and if they were happy with their lives. Most people looked like they had difficulties that were eating at them, and Dick thought he knew how they felt.


	3. A School Boy in Trouble

**Author's Note:** Hello again, hope you're all enjoying this so far. This chapter was written by Amber Spirit. I just want to say that, for this story, the Robin/Dick that I have in my mind is the one from Teen Titans (I love Teen Titans, me) while the Bruce Wayne/Batman is probably the one from Batman: The Animated Series, but a bit thinner :) cause he had the angst. Amber Spirit, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure is picturing Christian Bale, and I don't know who her Robin is. So there is gonna be some Nolanverse overtones in this, I suppose (but I much prefer _my_ Batman, he was more mysterious/introspective :p )

_The Allen Bex Academy is a private school for boys on the upper East side of Gotham city. With its focus on Business and Economics, the Academy's main purpose is to develop charismatic, responsible young men with well-balanced intellectual characters, while physical development inspires them to be the best in all areas of their lives. Academically, the boys study English, Economics, Maths, Sciences, Business Studies, Politics, History and foreign languages, along with a healthy dose of writing and public speaking. The students are given many opportunities for leadership to prepare them for the business world of today, and study current events, culminating in a speech contest about issues of national or international importance. _

**THE BOY IN THE MANOR**

**Chapter three: A school boy in trouble**

_Charismatic and responsible young men, my ass_, Dick thought with irritation as a tall, smirking boy he didn't remember the name of bumped into him as he passed. The blond's laugh was decidedly malicious as he said "_So _sorry, Grayson," with an expression that indicated he was not sorry at all.

The fourteen year old boy slowly breathed out, trying to calm down.

He really didn't need this right now.

Needless to say, the Biology test had been a _disaster_. Dick had absolutely no idea how he was going to explain himself to Bruce. Even though he was sure that he wrote enough to at least pass, it was a far cry from the high score he was expected to get. Not to mention the fact that by messing up this test, his average sank even lower than before and he was sure it was going to show on his monthly report card, along with the 'trouble' he caused last week during lunch (because apparently, here at Allen Bex Academy, getting cornered and insulted by five guys from the upper year is considered causing 'trouble').

To top it all off, he was late for the Debate club held every Friday after school, and even though he knew that Mr. Drew didn't care about lateness and never wrote it down, Dick didn't want to risk messing up his report card even further. So it was understandable that he didn't need this right now.

Ignoring the smirking boy, Dick moved on.

"What was that, Grayson?" the guy called after him persistently, despite the fact that the black-haired boy hadn't uttered a word.

As he turned to look at him fully, Dick finally recognized the idiot as Joshua McTravis, the son of the former CEO of KONIS Corporation, Ken McTravis who was kicked out of the big seat because he was way too greedy and way too obvious about it. Dick remembered reading an article about it in _The Economist _for his class, yet even without it, the situation of the blond boy's father was known throughout the whole academy. Since Joshua had now become one of the 'commoners' as his father was a nobody in the business world, he was treated like a loser by the whole student body and, as far as the social pyramid was concerned, only outranked Dick Grayson, the supposed 'scholarship student' who was lower than dirt.

In a way, Dick understood Joshua. He was just trying to regain his pride by stepping on the only person that was under him, but that didn't mean he was going to approve. Since now the guy didn't have his usual group of lackeys ready to back him up, Dick was confident that he could take him on and not get into trouble.

Besides he was just SO sick and tired of this school.

"I said you're a jackass," he responded with a confident tone, and nearly laughed out loud at McTravis' shocked expression. This felt too good. For the first time since his parents' death, he started to feel like his old self again.

The old Dick Grayson was used to being admired by both the audience and his impressed peers. _Everybody _wanted to be like him, working in a Circus was every kid's dream and he was the quickest, bravest and most impressive of them all. He could still remember his first solo act and the raging applause that followed. He almost felt like a hero.

In comparison, the new Dick Grayson was a loser. Since this school's fee was a considerable amount of money (he actually never asked but he was sure that the number would be appalling) the Allen Bex Academy was full of spoiled little boys whose parents were successful owners of companies all around the globe. In practice, this meant that your rank in the Social Pyramid of the Great depended on how much power your father had and how much his yearly income was.

It was almost ridiculous how well-informed these boys were when it concerned your parentage. You drop a name and they can tell you what position the guy is in, how much money he has, how many cars and mansions he owns and if he has any contacts with the Important People (Bruce Wayne being at the top of the list.)

The irony was not lost on Dick.

Naturally, none of the students knew about his guardian's identity otherwise they would probably follow him around everywhere like demented puppies. The fact that Dick Grayson was actually the mysterious new addition to the prestigious Wayne family was a complete secret. If there was one thing that he felt grateful for, it was this. Being occasionally bullied was still better than the scary alternative. Above all, Dick could not stand fake friendships.

"What did you just say?"

Since it seemed that Joshua McTravis finally understood the fact that he just got insulted (by the _scholarship student_ no less), Dick dropped his bag and prepared himself for a fight. He was confident that he could take McTravis down, despite the fact that the blond was bigger and older than the slim teen. But Dick was quicker and his desire to hit someone was much greater. His thirst for violence was almost alarming.

But just as he was about to land the first punch and challenge McTravis properly, both boys heard loud footsteps coming down the hall and, before any of them could move an inch, there was an angry Mrs. Birkins looking at them with both of her arms folded across her chest.

"What is going on here, boys?"

Recognizing the woman almost instantly, Dick's lips curved into a sly smile.

"He was about to attack me, ma'am," he responded instantly.

"WHAT?! That's not true! He insulted me and was about to hit me himself! You saw his hand!"

Mrs. Birkins gave Dick a long hard look and the boy didn't even bother trying to act innocent. He recognized the woman instantly. She was one of the few teachers who were informed by the headmaster about Bruce Wayne being his adoptive father. Naturally, Bruce paid a considerable amount for their silence (atop his yearly donations to the school, of course). He knew that even if he pointed a fricking gun at McTravis she wouldn't do a thing. And by the look on the woman's face, she knew it as well.

"Mr. McTravis, you're coming with me," she stated finally and the blond boy stared at her in disbelief, seemingly sure that it was all some misunderstanding.

"But Mrs. Birkins, you _saw _him-"

"To my office. Right now," the dark-haired woman stated loudly and when the shocked boy finally fell silent, she turned to address Dick.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Grayson. I would make arrangements with your teacher if you are late."

McTravis' face was just too funny to watch.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dick responded and picked up his school back, fighting the urge to whistle as he made his way down the grand hall. He could almost hear the audience cheer in the background.

The first thing he heard as he discreetly opened the door to Mr. Drew's classroom was Richard Rawn's passionate voice. It seemed that today's discussion was already coming to an end.

"Are you kidding me? If Capitalism was a religion, I would be its _clergy_, preaching to people out there about money! Besides, this has nothing to do with my ideological views. Look at the facts!"

When he checked the large clock on the wall, Dick realized that he was good thirty minutes late, but nobody seemed to pay him any attention as he sat down. The chairs in the classroom were arranged into an imperfect half-circle, while the teacher himself was sitting on a desk, watching the two boys standing in the middle of the circle attentively, who were engaged in a heated argument. Trying to catch Mr. Drew's eye, Dick sighed in relief when the man gave him a small smile and a nod, indicating that he didn't mind the lateness. The fourteen year old leaned slowly against the chair and finally allowed himself to relax.

"Craft simply has more sensible ideas and I don't think that the wealthy should have to pay more into social security. It's that stubborn Robin Hood approach of all Orwen's policies that makes him so damn unpopular with the upper classes. I mean, I think everybody in this room agrees. Therefore, Craft has obviously more advantage-"

"Oh, come on, you can't just say it like that!"

"Alright, alright. You want more proof that Orwen is completely incompetent and nobody in their right mind should vote for him? I didn't want to bring this up but you leave me no choice, Nick. _Foreign policy_."

"No, no, you can't bring that up now-"

"That's right, I said it. Read my lips - FOREIGN POLICY. I think it's impossible to forget Orwen's epic failure in this area. I mean, my message to the guy? Just because someone has experience, doesn't mean that they are capable of providing the best possible service. I don't want to see the guy fuck up our international relations twice in a row!"

It seemed that Richard was once again on offensive and the boy standing opposite him seemed to be grasping at straws. Dick's gaze went past the talking pair and fell onto the huge blackboard (one of the few in the whole building - seems they are unfashionable nowadays or something) and the big title written with red chalk in the middle of it: _ORWEN VS CRAFT._

The Debate club was an extracurricular activity that was, as all the other things in his new life, chosen for him by Bruce. It took place every Friday in the same classroom under 's careful supervision. Students from all years were allowed to join but the club was mainly full of older boys and Dick was the youngest member this year.

The way the club worked was rather easy. At the end of each meeting, Mr. Drew would decide on a new topic that would be discussed the following week and two boys would volunteer, one in favour of the issue and one against. Then the next week the discussion would take place and, after it was done, there would be a general vote and the boy who has the most members on his side wins.

From the pair that was standing in the middle of the classroom, Dick could recognize only one, Richard Rawn. Despite the fact that his father was a comparatively small scale businessman, Richard was well-liked by both the teachers and his peers for his natural charisma and intelligence. The tall boy was eighteen and going through his last year at the Allen Bex Academy, and Dick knew him from the Debate club since he was a regular member.

He had to admit, he admired Richard Rawn a little. His public-speaking skills, easy-going nature, sense of humour and effortless good marks. Wherever the boy went, he was like the sun, and everybody flocked towards him. Dick wasn't sure if the feeling could be called jealousy but he definitely felt worse whenever he was in the taller boy's presence. Richard was just so… so _unspoiled_, for a lack of a better word, and this made Dick only more conscious of his own flaws.

Mr. Drew stood up, indicating that the discussion was over. Richard looked like he wanted to say something more but stepped back anyway as the teacher made his way towards the middle of the semicircle.

"Alright, it seems we don't have much time left so I'm going to ask now: Who votes for Nick?" he said.

Not a single hand was raised and Dick could see the boy's blushing face hidden behind his black bangs.

"And Richard?"

All twelve boys in the half circle raised their hands and Dick followed their example, even though he had no idea what Richard's arguments about foreign policy were at all. Even though he tried hard, in some areas his education was clearly lacking and in such a prestigious school as Allen Bex Academy, it was painfully obvious. Maths and Sciences were alright for him, but start talking about politics and Dick could not follow you at all. It was such a bad decision to put him into this school…

"Well, there you have it. Nick, you had some good arguments going there at the beginning. You should work on those. And Richard, flawless as usual. Just try to not swear so much."

"Ah, sorry, Mr. Drew." Richard grinned sheepishly and shook hands with Nick, since those were the rules of the club. One by one, each boy stood up and started to pack, a group of the older ones going to talk to Richard about his performance. Realizing that he didn't really want this meeting to end, Dick stayed sitting at his chair a little bit longer than usual and watched Mr. Drew as he started writing the next week's topic on the board.

His breath caught in his throat when he read it.

'_BATMAN'_

"That's right." The man smiled in amusement at the boys' loud reaction and the few chuckling individuals. "The big bad bat patrolling our great city of Gotham. Is he a hero of justice or just a lunatic playing dress up? Who wants to try it out?"

Dick could already see a few boys in the classroom eagerly looking at the teacher (Batman was after all a hot topic no matter how rich you were) but Mr. Drew didn't pay them any attention, instead staring at Dick in silence. _Wait…he doesn't want me to-_

"How about you, Richard?" The man asked, and it took Dick some time to realize that he was talking to him. The boy nearly forgot that in this school, most people called him Richard instead of Dick. The whole matter was confusing, not to mention humiliating, since the other Richard in the class was everything Dick was not. With the same first name, they were literally begging to be compared.

With the whole classroom suddenly staring at him, Dick didn't know what to say. Mr. Drew's calm face made it literally impossible for him to refuse the man. When he didn't answer, the teacher's smiled widened and he made a small step forward.

"What do you think?"

It was obvious that the man was going to make him do it, one way or another. It was only a matter of picking a side. And that came to him as easily as breathing, so Dick opened his mouth and stated,

"I think Batman is a _hero_."

He'd never been more sure about anything in his life.


	4. The Boy Who Flies

**Author's Note: **Hello again, this chapter was written by me this time, hope you like it. This story isn't doing too well, I think. Only five reviews, (for three chapters, granted) one of which is from one of the authors, and the last chapter only got sixty hits. So I'm thinking maybe this story would do better if I moved it into another category, maybe into the film category instead of the comic one? What do you think? Anyone, I'll tell you if I'm going to do any such thing before I do it, odn't worry. As if you would.

Chapter 4: The Boy Who Flies

"I think Batman is a _hero_."

This statement made everyone in the class suddenly pay attention to what was going on, which Dick regretted immediately. He wished he'd phrased it a bit differently so that he didn't sound like such a kid. He also noticed Richard Rawn looking at him with interest, probably because this was the first time he had volunteered to debate.

"Okay, so it looks like we've got our in favour, who wants to be against?" asked Mr Drew with an encouraging smile. There was a bit of hesitation, but then one boy, in the year above Dick, spoke up.

"I'll do it. The guy's a vigilante and a criminal, not to mention a psycho." He looked at Dick as he spoke, as if he wanted to start the debate right then and there. He sounded obnoxious and belligerent, the kind of guy who based his arguments on his opinions rather than logic. Dick knew he should be able to handle it, make a good case even if he didn't win, but he was still nervous. This school had a way of working against him.

With that taken care of, everyone started to file out of the classroom, heading in different directions to go to their lockers. Dick went to his and collected his homework on autopilot, already planning his argument in his head.

Yes, Batman was a vigilante, which did technically make him a criminal, but in a city like Gotham, he was necessary. The police were corrupt and everyone knew it, the streets hadn't been safe to walk alone for years. Batman made the thugs afraid while giving the innocent people hope. He was a symbol, an icon, it was what he represented that mattered, not the person behind the mask, although it was true, the man behind it all _was _a hero. Isn't that what you call it when someone selflessly endangers themselves in order to protect others? The other guy would probably argue that it was Batman who brought out the new kind of criminals, freaks like the Joker and the Scarecrow, with insane plans and unprecedented levels of destruction. But of course the criminals weren't going to just lie back and be wiped out, this was their last ditch effort to protect their way of life. This was it getting worse before it got better.

Besides, Dick thought with renewed venom, what did these guys know about helping people? Their idea of a selfless act was hosting a gala dinner and donating the proceeds to the local children's hospital, all while they flaunted their extreme wealth and networked with their elitist friends. If that was the only good thing that got done, the city would be worse off than it was now. They needed someone who was prepared to do more than just make charitable donations. Actions speak louder than cheques.

It was going to be easy, he just had to take the moral high ground and condemn everything he already hated about the world he had been adopted into. If he phrased it right, he could get out all his frustrations and insult these people to their faces, and get good marks for it. But he would have to be smart about it. And he hoped Bruce wouldn't find out, he knew the billionaire was a big contributor to children's hospitals.

Dick made his way out the front doors and saw the silver Rolls Royce waiting for him. It was only after he had slid inside and Alfred had shut the door that he saw Richard in the distance frowning at him. Of course, the scholarship kid shouldn't be riding home in a Rolls. Dick just sunk down in his seat and looked away. Normally Alfred didn't pull up to the door, but since school had officially ended an hour ago, he wasn't as careful as he sometimes was.

As they drove away, Dick felt the familiar dark presence of returning to Wayne Manor settle over him.

"Bruce still got the black car?" he asked Alfred conversationally.

"Master Bruce will be working late tonight, Sir," answered the butler. Dick nodded, and they continued the trip in silence.

Once they reached the house, Dick took his books upstairs. It was at least three hours until Alfred would summon him for dinner, and Dick knew that when Bruce "worked late," it meant he probably wouldn't see him until the next evening when he got home from school. So he opened his books and started studying. He had assignments in more than one subject, and he was so far behind all these other kids who had been learning this stuff for their entire lives that he had to read up just to understand the classes.

Pretty soon, it was time for dinner and he could take a break. He hadn't finished anything definitive, which he hated, but he had made starts on several of the pieces. His head and his eyes were aching so he went to pester Alfred in the kitchen. Making mischief was only fun if there was someone else around, and Alfred was the only one he dared try anything with. He knew he shouldn't, but he _had _been raised in the circus, after all. He couldn't be expected to behave himself all the time.

He pushed the wooden swing doors open to find Alfred with an apron on and his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. The island in the middle of the room was buried under various pots and pans. Dick swung himself up onto a counter and watched.

"Dinner is not quite ready yet, young Master," said Alfred, keeping his eyes on the vegetables he was slicing and dicing.

"I know, Al," replied Dick, helping himself to some of the chopped vegetables, making Alfred frown but the butler didn't say anything, just reached for some more to replace them.

"I have asked you not to call me that," spoke the butler in a tight voice, and Dick could tell he had purposefully left off any "Sir," or "young Master."

"Sorry, Alfred," Dick corrected himself, feeling less mischievous now. A silence that weighed on the boy permeated the room.

"What are we having?" he asked eventually, making another attempt to connect with the butler who always kept him at a respectful distance. Alfred answered him, citing some French dish the Dick didn't understand.

"Sounds complicated," he commented.

"Hmm, it was always much simpler cooking for Master Bruce. He was usually content with one of my sandwiches. That was before you came, of course," said the butler in a polite, pleasant tone.

Dick suddenly found he had lost his appetite and didn't want to stay in the kitchen anymore. He already knew things were better off before he came to Wayne Manor, that he especially would have been happier if he had never been brought here, and he didn't need Alfred to tell him so.

"Well, you know you don't need to do this for me. You know I'm happy with just a sandwich, too. It's not like we ever ate like this at the circus," replied Dick contentiously.

"I know, Master Dick, but Master Bruce wants you to be properly fed and looked after." Again, there was nothing in his tone, or in his face as he kept his eyes on his cooking to offend Dick or hint at any dissatisfaction on the older man's part, but the boy knew it was there. The butler would never allow him to be his friend. His loyalty was to Bruce Wayne, and he couldn't protect both of them.

Dick slid off the counter and left the kitchen. That was what he hated about this house, Bruce Wayne owned everything in it, including the people.

The meal itself was quiet, as usual. Towards the end, as Dick was shaving slivers of melon off the rind with his spoon to eat as dessert, the pair heard the gravel out front crunching under tires as Bruce came home. An irrational surge of adrenaline made Dick's heart convulse painfully, but he quickly calmed himself down. He had expected Bruce to be home late, eleven or twelve at night, but he had come home early and taken him by surprise. In this house, it was routine and being able to predict behaviour that kept you safe. It allowed you to hide, run, or at least it allowed you to brace yourself. Being caught by surprise was bad.

Maybe he could understand Alfred a bit better. Dick's arrival had upset the routine of twenty years. He wouldn't be surprised if Alfred didn't like what his moving-in had made of the house, either.

Bruce found them in the Dining Room, walking in with a small smile. He was wearing the same dark suit as he had that morning, only now he looked like he had been wearing it for too long. His general appearance had lost its crisp edge, he looked tired. He must have been working hard all day.

"Shall I prepare your dinner, Sir?" asked Alfred respectfully. That meant heating it up, as Bruce would be having the same thing Dick had just finished.

"Yes, please, Alfred," he said in his deeper voice.

He took a seat a few places down from where Dick sat at the head of the table. They were now alone together. Dick turned his eyes back to his plate.

Bruce seemed to take a moment to relax, removing his tie and running his hand through his hair, before he spoke.

"I got a call from the school today, Dick. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

_Oh no…_he thought. _Surely, they can't have marked the tests that quickly…Unless this is about something else…_Before Dick could answer, staring at Bruce in wide-eyed fear and confusion, the older man continued.

"Are you getting into trouble with the older boys?" he said.

Dick relaxed a bit. This was about what had happened with McTravis. He didn't have to lie his way out of it, he always felt he was risking his life when he lied to Bruce.

"Not too much. McTravis was just taking out his frustrations about what happened with his dad on me. That's all," he said, willing Bruce to read incorrectly between the lines that he was well-liked and happy at the Academy.

Bruce seemed to accept this, probably knowing better than Dick about Ken McTravis. It was his world.

Alfred reappeared, setting a place for Bruce over his shoulder, and pouring him a drink before going back to the kitchen.

"And how are you marks doing?"

Dick tensed, and settled on a careful, half-truth. "I'm catching up," he said. He left out that it was an on-going process and that he still had a long way to go.

Bruce looked pleased, as if Dick really was his son, confident that he had done the boy a massive favour in taking him in.

"I was hoping you would say that. I'm proud of you, Dick, you're doing really well here. And I know your parents would be proud, as well," he said, making his tone more understanding.

_Don't you dare mention them to me_.

Dick wasn't so sure his parents would be proud of him for coping in that rich-boys' prep-school. They were proud of him when he completed the triple-salto without a net, they were proud of him when his timing was so perfect that he could change trapezes twice in one jump. This business stuff wasn't what they cared about. They lived for the thrill of performing thirty feet in the air.

Later, once dinner was finished, Dick became afraid that he was losing it, the part of him that made him a Grayson. He was afraid that his time in that house and that school was changing him into a Wayne or a McTravis. He needed to practice, to see if it was all still there. He needed to reassure himself that the hell he'd gone through hadn't changed who he was.

Wayne Manor didn't have a gym. It was probably one of the only things it didn't have. This meant that it definitely didn't have any gymnastics equipment. It was already dark outside, and he knew the garden had some big trees though. It was probably the best he could do. So he dressed appropriately, and snuck out, running all the way to where some giant oak trees were growing. He'd done stretches in his room, and his heart was already pounding from fear of being caught, so he didn't waist any time in climbing up to the first branch.

He wasn't stupid about it, though. He looked around to make sure the branches were thick enough to take his weight, and he planned what he would do ahead of time so that he wouldn't have to think quickly in the dark. Then he climbed out away from the trunk of the tree, and let himself drop.

His hands latched onto the branch, the bark digging into his skin, and he made a mental note to wear gloves next time. He swung, gaining momentum, then he made a couple of simple revolutions, listening to the leaves shake as his weight came down on the branch perfectly each time. Gradually, he made things more complicated, concentrating hard. He'd hate to have to explain a dislocated shoulder to Bruce. He brought himself up, enjoying that moment of hang-time during which he was almost doing a handstand in the tree, then he reversed his hands and flipped over as he fell back. Using the momentum, he carried on, this time clearing the branch in a split.

Dick kept a careful note of what hurt, so that he could work on it. He knew he was out of practice, and his body was not being shy about reminding him. Every move hurt, every muscle strained, but it was good. He liked it. It made him realise that he still knew exactly what to do to alleviate that pain and strengthen those muscles.

Eventually, he became eager to try something else. He brought himself to a stop, landing on the branch in a crouch. Only then did he allow himself to smile. He let out a steadying breath, and grinned wider. He looked up, at the series of branches growing above him, and leapt. He moved agilely from branch to branch, then he used one to swing to the next, which he hooked his knees over and swung down, catching the nearest one as if it was a trapeze bar.

It was all still there. It was all perfect. He could almost hear the hush of the crowd. Feel the eyes of the ringmaster and the other performers. No one could do what he did. No one could fly like the Graysons.

He heard footsteps and stopped abruptly, freezing.

"I'd almost forgotten how flexible you are," said Bruce's deep voice from the ground, quiet in the night.

A sliver of ice slipped down Dick's spine, and he looked down, almost afraid of what he would find. There was Bruce, his blue eyes catching what little light there was and pinning him to the spot as he rested high up in the tree. Dick didn't reply, he couldn't find the words nor his voice.

"Come down," said Bruce softly, somewhere between an order and a request.

Dick considered staying in the tree. He thought about never ever coming down, leaping from tree to tree and making his escape. He looked towards the perimeter wall, sensibly free of tall trees that intruders could use to climb in, or that teenagers could use to escape. He thought about jumping, plummeting down to the ground and landing awkwardly, breaking something.

Bruce stepped forward his arms out. "I'll catch you," he said with a slight smile.

Dick swallowed everything he was feeling. He shut out every sense he had. He committed the rest of the night to oblivion, and made his way down through the branches. He followed Bruce back to the house.

Nearby, unnoticed by any of the three inhabitants of Wayne Manor, a man in dark clothes shook his head and looked down at the camera in his hands, thinking about the pictures it contained.

"Who the hell _is _this kid?"


	5. The Boy Dreams

**Author's Note:** This chapter was written mostly by AmberSpirit, I took over when he wakes up. _I_ wanted it to be an M-rated chapter, but _somebody_ didn't want to write it, even though she said she would. So now I don't know where that's going to come in. Soon, I hope.

**Chapter five: The boy dreams**

Dick stopped in front of the massive wooden door with a frown, not quite sure what he was doing here.

Ever since he was approached by Bruce Wayne at his parents' funeral three months ago, he hadn't talked properly to the man yet. Dick was aware that his new guardian was an extremely busy person but that didn't make his lonely nights in Wayne Manor any easier. Sometimes he felt like the building was sucking energy out of him, as if no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't breathe enough, couldn't breathe _freely_ enough, as if there was not enough oxygen in the air. The feeling he was getting could probably be best described as _trapped,_ but the pain of his parents' death was too raw for him to recognize the emotion for what it was.

But as he was standing there, in the middle of the night in front of the forbidden room, Dick realized he _hated_ Wayne Manor. It was as if the building changed its residents and turned them into someone or something…_else_. He could already feel the transformation happening, Dick Grayson would be no more and -

Dick straightened up in surprise as he heard a series of sounds coming from behind the door. Leaning closer, until he was practically pressing his ear against the massive door, the black-haired boy tried to hear what was going on inside the mysterious forbidden room.

The room was the only one located in the West wing of Wayne manor that Dick didn't have access to. Naturally, it wasn't the only place in the whole house; pretty much all of the South part of the second floor was off limits, but that was only because most of it was Bruce's space and Dick felt far too much respect for the man to even take a peek inside.

But the forbidden room was different. It was the only room in the manor that was locked, and when he asked Alfred about it, the old butler told him that only Master Bruce had the key to that room and that any questions about it should be directed towards him. Naturally, this posed a problem since the man was never there, and besides, Dick felt like it was such a stupid thing to ask. Sure, he was curious, but what did he expect to find in there? A freezer full of dead supermodels? It was probably just a room full of expensive paintings or something; completely boring stuff. Yet despite all that, Dick was still curious. So that was why, when Alfred woke him up in the middle of the night with a message from Bruce to meet him in the mysterious room, the young boy had no idea what to expect.

There was silence behind the door for a while and Dick was about to lean back and knock to announce his presence when he heard it again - a muffled _thud_ of something heavy falling onto a carpeted floor. Then there was a series of impatient footsteps and then another _thud_… Dick pressed himself closer and waited. What was Bruce doing in there?

He nearly gasped out loud when a horribly loud shattering noise came from within the room and he turned towards the hall, half expecting to see Alfred hurrying up the stairs at the commotion. When minutes went by and there was no butler demanding to know what was wrong, Dick frowned in confusion. Surely Alfred must have heard that. Perhaps he was already asleep? But he had woken him up just ten minutes ago…

The thirteen year old faced the intimidating door again in silence and leaned in closer to hear any more suspicious noises. It sounded like Bruce was breaking something in there… Dick wanted more than anything not to have to enter the forbidden room, now, so he stalled for time, trying to hear anything else besides the stifling silence. For a while, everything was quiet, the only sound was the ticking of a clock from the hallway... but then Dick heard another dull noise, another muffled thud - Yes, he was sure that Bruce was throwing things on the ground in there, what exactly was going on?

More worried than scared at this point, Dick quickly stepped back and knocked on the massive door. When there was no response, he knocked again, louder this time but he couldn't hear anything from within. Was it possible that Bruce injured himself, or got sick, and there was no one around to help him? Damn it, where was Alfred when you needed him?

When there was no response even after the third set of knocks, Dick decided to go in anyway and as his sweaty hand reached for the door handle, he contemplated shouting for help if it was locked like all those other times he tried. But to his relief, the door opened without a problem and Dick entered the room, all his previous thoughts forgotten.

The first thing he noticed was how utterly…_wrong _this room felt to him. There was simply no other word to describe it; there was something in the air and the way the light fell down on the expensive carpet that made Dick want to take a quick step back and quietly leave. Yet, at the same time there was something sacred about it that kept him in place. It felt a lot like discovering something completely new, an ancient place where he didn't belong and never would, forever an outsider.

Dick softly closed the door behind him and faced his silent guardian.

The second most noticeable thing in the room was the desk, or rather, the man sitting behind the desk. Bruce looked like a mess. Dick was absolutely shocked to see his guardian in such a state; the dark-haired man always looked perfectly presentable, even inside his own home. Yet here before him, his face buried in his hands, was an image of a broken man. Dick wanted to take a step closer but found out he was unable to move.

Bruce didn't acknowledge his presence. Whether it was because he was unwelcome (why the message then, at such a strange hour?) or because he simply wasn't aware of it, was not clear to the boy.

Bruce's hair, usually neatly brushed back from his aristocratic face, was a mess, sticking out in odd angles as if he had pulled at it in frustration many, many times. His usual suit was gone as well, replaced by a casual black shirt, and Dick was shocked to see how much younger it made him look. The image in front of him was absolutely bizarre, if not a little scary as well. Bruce Wayne was not meant to look this way. Bruce was untouchable, confident in every situation and he was… he was not meant to look so… so _human_.

That's when Dick saw series of heavy bruises on the man's skin and finally willed himself to move.

"Are.. Are you alright?"

The pale boy stuttered a bit, startled by the crunching noise his hesitant steps produced. When he looked down there were few large pieces of glass spread on the expensive carpet along with some books and papers. After a while, Dick identified the glass as a part of a smashed silver lamp that was lying nearby, and he was glad that he had decided to wear shoes to visit his guardian that night. Those glass shards were sharp enough to cause a serious injury.

_Well, that explains the loud noise earlier_, Dick thought uneasily and slowly made his way over the mess until he was standing right in front of the large desk.

"Bruce?" he asked again, and Dick had to use all of his willpower not to call him 'Sir.' The forbidden room (now that he looked around, it looked a lot like a study) was making him feel uneasy and he tried not to let his eyes wander, focusing instead on the silent man before him.

There was a short silence, and just when he thought Bruce wasn't going to say anything, the dark-haired man let out a bitter sigh and silently stated;

"I'm _tired_."

That was understandable since it was something around three o'clock in the morning, but Dick sensed something else behind those weary words. The way Bruce had said 'tired' suggested something other than a mere physical state; it was that sort of tiredness that a man felt when he was weary of life or his very own existence, _there is no reason for you to go on, no purpose_. Dick knew what he was talking about. He too felt _tired _ever since his parents died, and it was hard.

Dick suddenly felt a strong connection towards his guardian and it made him feel awkward. This situation was too intimate, too private and he didn't know how to respond. He wanted to keep Bruce from feeling tired _so _badly, but he could think of nothing to do or say to remedy the situation. So the boy just stayed silent and waited, and when there was no other response from his guardian, he changed the subject completely.

"You, uhm, have a lot of books here," Dick casually commented, and could nearly feel himself blushing from embarrassment. Of course there were a lot of books around here! It was a study!

To hide his embarrassment, he went for the series of bookshelves on his left and looked through some of them, noting the boring sounding titles but forgetting them the moment they passed through his head. They were covered in dust, as was everything else in the room, and Dick wondered if Alfred ever cleaned the forbidden room, or even visited it. Somehow, it was hard to picture the old butler in the study. It was hard to picture anyone else here but Bruce, sitting behind the desk in darkness and thinking his own terrible thoughts.

"They are not mine."

Dick was surprised when Bruce answered but tried to not let it show. Instead, he kept his back to the man to offer him some time to compose himself.

"They belonged… to my father," Bruce explained, and his voice sounded terribly loud in the quiet room. When Dick turned around he saw the man was no longer hunched over the massive desk, instead he was staring at him, and even from at a distance, Dick could see his desperation as clearly as if he was studying him through a magnifying glass.

Dick turned to face the bookshelves again, feeling strangely uncomfortable with Bruce's eyes on him. His heart beat quickly. He could still feel his guardian's gaze at the back of his head but refused to turn around, instead he picked one of the books from the shelves and read the title out loud.

"Kings and Queens of the Forgotten Land."

Dick was surprised to see that his pale hands, which were holding the large book firmly, were shaking from nervousness. He tried to calm his racing heart but it was impossible; he had no idea what made him so anxious but his heartbeat sped up like crazy and he was surprised that his voice didn't shake when he stated;

"That sounds interesting."

It was as if his body was trying to tell him that there was something wrong. Whether it was because of the room or because of the strange state his guardian was in, Dick knew that being here in the middle of the night with Bruce was a very bad idea.

"Read it," the man in question said, and the sound of his voice alarmed the boy so much that he nearly dropped the massive book on the ground.

"What? Now?"

Dick asked and very slowly turned around. When he finally faced the man behind the desk he tried to look anywhere but at his face. He wanted to leave the study room and he wanted to leave soon.

"Yes. Your voice is… calming."

Holding the book like a shield, Dick nervously stepped from one foot to the other. Bruce's last statement made him feel extremely uncomfortable, but he refused to show it. The boy stepped over the glass shards and sat on a single chair opposite the magnificent desk. He was clumsy as he opened the book, his fingers unreliable, his heart beating in a panicky rhythm.

His voice sounded a bit unsure during the first paragraph, but after he finished the introduction, Dick was pleased to hear that he sounded perfectly calm and confident. He tried to concentrate on the string of sentences before his eyes but it was useless; he was only reading the words and not focusing on their meaning. He could have been reading a children's book or a death certificate and not realize. It was only after few pages that he found out it was something about the European monarchy.

The man behind the desk only listened silently. Dick kept his head lowered but after a while could not help himself, he started to steal glances at Bruce to satisfy his curiosity. The dark haired man looked exhausted and there was a purple bruise forming on his right cheekbone. His neck and arms were marked as well, blue, green and yellow… Some of the bruises looked old, but he had never noticed them since his guardian was always perfectly dressed in crisp white shirts and black suits, his arms always covered. But now that the sleeves were shorter, Dick could not help but notice that Bruce looked like he got into very intense fights on a regular basis. This was surprising, since Dick couldn't even imagine a scenario where the owner of Wayne industries got physically assaulted by somebody else. The very idea was so bizarre that Dick did not even consider it.

The black haired boy stopped in the middle of a sentence as Bruce suddenly stood up and began walking in the direction of the large door. Dick immediately turned around and watched him in alarm.

_Did I do something to offend him? Is he leaving?_

Yet the man did not leave. Instead he stopped right in front of the door and took a small object out of his pocket. When Dick leaned to the side to get a better view, he realized it was a silver key. His heartbeat sped up and the pale hands holding the old book began to sweat. The dreaded click of the locked door was impossibly loud in the stillness of the room. When Bruce offered no explanation for locking them inside the study, the boy opened his mouth to speak. His heart was nearly leaping out of his chest as he asked;

"Why are y-"

Dick woke up with the word 'you' on his lips.

The boy's breaths were quick and shallow and he found himself covered in cold sweat. He was unsure at first what had roused him, but then he heard the gentle chink of ice in glasses and distant giggling from downstairs. Bruce was having another one of his little parties. He supposed he should be grateful, he knew where that dream had been heading. At the back of his mind Dick wondered if he would ever be able to forget that first horrid meeting in the forbidden room.

The boy threw back the covers. He needed to be up for a bit, let the dream fade from his mind before he attempted sleep again. He decided to go to the bathroom, wash his face, pull himself together a bit. What happened was a long time ago, he wasn't the same scared kid anymore. He could handle it.

He trusted Bruce would be entertaining his guests in one of the lounges or the Midnight room, so he didn't check the dark hallways before leaving his room. He walked to the bathroom and locked himself in. He didn't really expect anyone to walk in on him, but these days, Dick appreciated every little bit of security he could manage. Bruce and Alfred had the keys anyway, but he just liked believing that he was out of reach. The locked door turned the bathroom into a sanctuary, his private domain in the house of Bruce Wayne.

He filled the sink, listening as the sound of the water filled the space around him. He splashed water on his face and neck and ran his wet hands through his unruly black hair, making it lie flat for a moment. Then he stared at his reflection in the mirror before him. His hands were on the sink, his elbows locked, making his shoulders hunch slightly. He looked pale under the harsh halogen light, his hair sticking up in wild points now. He had slept in just a pair of dark pyjama bottoms, so he took the opportunity to check his torso for marks. The most recent bruises were fading, and they weren't really so bad, just a few yellow blotches on his ribs and hips. His back, around his shoulders, was worse. They were still purple. But at least they didn't hurt anymore.

He rinsed his arms as well, the cold water bringing him back to reality, then bent and took a quick drink from the tap. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, then let the water out. He unlocked the door and left, crossing the landing on the way back to his room.

"Oh!" exclaimed a light female voice from the bottom of the stairs. Dick spun, and found a beautiful woman looking up at him, one foot still poised on the next step and her hand on the banister. She was obviously on of Bruce's guests, judging from how short her skirt was, and how long her legs were. She had long blond hair, styled with a side parting, falling in waves to curl at the ends.

Dick knew he shouldn't have been seen, but he couldn't very well run and hide, that would just be all the more suspicious. So he turned to face the woman awkwardly.

"I didn't know there was anyone else here," she said. "I was just looking for the little girl's room." She had a pleasant, musical voice, and Dick got the feeling she was a performer of some sort, judging from her impeccable enunciation even while being not entirely sober.

"It's down there," he directed, trying to sound polite but forgettable.

"Thanks," said the woman, climbing a few more steps before stopping again, looking at Dick curiously.

"You live here?" she asked. She had a simpering manner about her, she was a bit of an airhead, all Bruce's girls were. It suddenly struck him how painfully ironic this meeting was, considering the awful memory that would just not let him sleep tonight.

"Uh, yeah, since last year," Dick replied, shifting away from her gaze back in the direction of his bedroom.

"I didn't know Bruce had a… nephew?" she guessed, prompting Dick to correct her.

"He doesn't, he took me in after my… after my parents died," he replied.

The woman gasped and laid her hand on her heart, as if it bled for the plight of orphans everywhere. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, and Dick acknowledged her with a nod. He'd long since stopped bothering engaging sentiments like that properly. "So Bruce adopted you, huh? He's a great guy, isn't he?"

She was obviously expecting the boy to start gushing about how grateful he was, but Dick just replied with a "Hmm," through a tight jaw.

The woman closed the gap between them and stuck out her hand. "I'm Presley Sanders, Miss Gotham 2007," she said with a practiced wink, and Dick got a subliminal flash of what she would look like in her sash and tiara, accepting her bouquet. He also wondered how long it would take before she stopped giving people her title along with her name.

Dick reached for her hand, "I'm -"

"Prez?" Bruce called from the doorway to the lounge, looking up at them, and interrupting Dick. "What are you doing?" Dick got the impression the question and the underlying menace were meant for him.

Presley, however, failed to notice. "I'm just introducing myself to your little boy, Bruce. You've been keeping secrets from me, naughty thing," she answered, dropping her hand. Maybe she had drunk too much, or maybe it was too dark for her to see down the stairs, but she didn't seem to notice that the Wayne heir wasn't smiling and indulging her childish nature the way he normally would have. He was looking stiff and intimidating, more like the Bruce Dick knew.

"He's supposed to be asleep. It's past his bed time," he responded, taking a sip of the wine he had in his hand, his eyes boring into Dick over the glass.

"I was just coming back from the bathroom," explained Dick, not without a note of anxiety.

"Yeah, Brucey, don't be so hard on the little guy. You should invite him to the party, it's the weekend," admonished Presley.

"He's still a bit too young for that," said Bruce, and he began to mount the stairs. "Why don't I show you where the bathroom is, and we'll leave him alone to get some sleep?" he said, giving the woman a roguish smile while taking her arm and steering her away from Dick. "I'm sure he's tired," he said with a note of finality, looking over his shoulder at Dick as they walked away. Dick got the message loud and clear and retreated quickly to the confines of his dark room.

If he listened, he could still hear his guardian talking to the woman who was being too nosy for her own good. Dick knew she wouldn't be hearing from Bruce again after tonight.

"Oh, Brucey, you're such a killjoy, why not let the kid have some fun? Who is he anyway?" she cajoled.

"No one you need to worry your pretty little head over," answered Bruce, deflecting her.

"Tch, you charmer." There was a pause, "You're not really going to stand outside while I go, are you?" Presley sounded concerned.

"I don't want you getting lost on your way back, now do I?" Bruce replied effortlessly, as smooth and teasing as any playboy was expected to be.

"Why not? You got anymore secrets walking around the place?" she joked. Bruce just chuckled.

Dick stopped listening, pushing off from the door and climbing into bed.

He'd be hearing about this later.


	6. The Boy Exposed

_**Exclusive! The identity of Bruce Wayne Jr revealed! See the first pictures of the boy right here!**_

_Gotham Gossip is proud to bring you this startling update on the story everyone's been wondering about, namely the hush-hush adoption by Bruce Wayne of an unknown orphan boy! It's a story that just got a whole lot crazier with our exclusive break-through featurette!_

_No one knows exactly when the adoption took place - sneaky Mr Wayne took care of that - but the rumours started almost a year ago about a new addition to the Wayne household. Up till now, no one has even been able to say whether the boy was an orphaned relative or a souvenir from a third world country, no one knew his name, age, or even his race!_

_But now GG has got the low down for you, faithful readers! We finally know the identity of the new Crown Prince of Gotham! Allow us to be the first to introduce fourteen year old Richard Grayson, adopted into the Wayne family after both his parents were killed in a tragic circus accident. Yes, you read that right, the CIRCUS. Because it turns out young Mr Grayson is the sole survivor of the family of talented trapeze artists "The Flying Graysons"! _

_Can you believe it, folks? We couldn't at first, either, but we've done our research, and we assure you, it's true! Just take a look at these sneaky snapshots taken by our very own News Ninja, the best photographer in all of Gotham, whose identity must remain secret because of all the shocking scandals of the rich and famous he has exposed, this not being the least of them!_

_As you can see, Dick knows his way around a tree! There's no doubting his high-flying history with that kind of skill. These photographs have not been photoshopped or airbrushed in any way, that's the GG guarantee, nothing but the truth for your discerning minds. And look at the care on the playboy's face as he fetches him inside for the night. Is Bruce just asking him to come down, or could he be joining in and offering to catch the tree-testing teen? After this, GG will believe anything! _

_But if you need more than a few measly pictures to convince you, if you're still telling yourself that maybe this is not the multi-billion dollar heir to Wayne Industries, that maybe it's just some distant cousin, or some hoodlum who broke in and started flipping through the branches of a few oaks for kicks, then maybe you'll believe the eye-witness account of Ms. Presley Sanders, AKA Miss Gotham 2007. She was attending one of the playboy's private parties, when she broke from the group in search of the bathroom. However, who did she meet but a sleepy teen who confirmed GG's story that he had in fact been taken in by the generous gent after the death of his parents, and was now living at Wayne Manor full time!_

"_It was obvious he had just woken up, and he was still dressed for bed, wearing only some black boxers. I remember thinking he had the body of an athlete, but he must have taken a tumble, poor thing, because he was all bruised. It all makes perfect sense!" Miss Presley tells GG. "He told me how grateful he was to Bruce for saving him from the streets, poor little guy! He was almost in tears, Bruce is his hero, and I'm so glad they've found each other."_

_There you have it! You heard it here first at Gotham Gossip, bringing you the latest from Gotham's Elite._

_Miss Presley is hoping to expand her career into acting._

Chapter 6: The Boy Exposed

The next few days passed without incident. The weekend was used for studying, and school was school. It was in the middle of the week that his world was destroyed.

Dick noticed it the second he entered the school grounds. It was the kind of thing that happened on TV but that was never meant to happen in real life. There was a moment of mass silence, as if somehow everyone had been alerted to his presence. They all looked at him, every single face in the quad was turned, staring, towards him. Dick hesitated, fearing for a moment that if he took another step they were going to lynch him, and he couldn't imagine why. There were a lot of things in his life that could cause this reaction if found out, but Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham and his guardian, protected those secrets with every ounce of influence he possessed. Nevertheless, Dick was scared. He stopped walking so that his footsteps wouldn't echo around him.

What was it? Had he left the house in his pyjamas today? Did he have something on his face? It couldn't be anything to do with his appearance, he had just left Alfred a moment ago and the butler would have told him. Maybe it was a special day at the Academy, some kind of April Fool's Day that he didn't know about. He quickly scanned the yard, comparing himself to the other boys. They were all wearing the same uniform that he had put on that morning just like every other school morning before it. He located boys from his year, and then from his class. There wasn't an obvious reason for him to attract so much attention. However, his eyes kept being caught by the flash of glossy pink magazine paper.

Then they all snapped back to life. In perfect unison, everyone turned to the people around them and started gossiping. Eagerly, they whispered to each other as if it was a matter of the greatest importance and hilarity. Dick felt his face burn and lowered his head, charging towards the main school building as if inside it would be better, as if there wouldn't be twice as many students in there in a higher concentration ready to victimise him. He just wanted shelter.

It was marginally better inside. There were enough people to shield him from view, so their reaction to his entrance took a while, and a minority paid him no attention at all, continuing their own private conversations. Dick's feet took him to his locker without him noticing, and he was glad to shield his face from view with the open door. He took out the books he would supposedly need for class, if they even had class on this strange day. He took his time, moving slowly as he glanced down the corridor out of the corner of his eye, noting the presence of more of the garish magazines.

Maybe he should just run. Today was obviously not going to be a good day, and maybe Bruce would appreciate it. The billionaire surely didn't want his ward attracting so much attention. Something was going on, and in a life filled with secrets, that was very bad. He could afford to skip one day in order for Bruce to get back the control he hoarded so desperately. Dick knew his guardian was protective of him, at the very least, and that he could forgive him for ducking out of what was potentially a dangerous situation.

But what if Dick was just being paranoid? There was still a possibility that this was all in his head, the inexplicable atmosphere in the school could all be coming from something else. Maybe he was not the target of all this intrigue. Then Dick would look foolish, and Bruce would not exonerate him for cutting class.

The bell rang. Dick always arrived at the school with just enough time to go to his locker, as it was awkward and dull to hang around without anyone to talk to. Now, he waited for the corridors to clear a little before moving off, not wanting to walk the gauntlet of their staring eyes. He would go to class and find out what was going on, and then decide whether or not it was safer to just go home. He thought about the reassuring presence of a cell phone in his backpack that Bruce had got him when he had first started going to the Academy. It had felt like a leash at the time, but now he was glad it was there. It only had two numbers in it, one for Alfred, and one for Bruce which was only for the direst of emergencies.

Because he had waited, when he walked into the class, everyone was already seated. There was another hush as he took his seat, and he counted at least three copies of the magazine. It was obviously a tabloid, and Dick was surprised that these high-class progeny took any interest in it. The boy who sat at the desk on his left, Frank Wilson, looked up eagerly as he approached, and Dick did his best to avoid his eye. As he sat down, the boy turned to him.

"Hey, Grayson, why didn't you tell me, man? We all thought you were some kind of scholarship student," he said with a friendly smile.

Dick's insides gurgled and ground to a halt. The tabloids were always interested in Bruce Wayne, the Playboy Prince, but the only way that a magazine would cause such a stir around Dick was if they _knew_.

"What do you mean?" replied Dick, his voice small and shaking. This time it was the boy in front of him who turned around and pushed a copy of the magazine in front of him. Dick looked up and noticed that the whole class was watching the exchange. He dropped his eyes to the magazine.

_Gotham Gossip Exclusive! The Identity of Bruce Wayne Jr Revealed! See the First Pictures of the Boy Here!_

The words were scrawled across a blown-up picture of his face. It was slightly blurry due to being taken from a distance and then zoomed in on, and he wasn't looking at the camera, but there could be no doubt about it. It was him, his secret was out.

Dick could barely raise his hand to open the booklet to find the article. He felt like he was moving through mud under the pressure of their stares as they watched his reaction. He tried to suppress his fear as best he could, but he was sure he was a funny colour. They all looked happy - as far as they were concerned, he was one of them now - but they didn't understand how angry this would make Bruce.

His wide eyes couldn't focus on the writing yet, but the photos were enough. There were a few taken during the day, of him getting in or out of the Rolls Royce while Alfred held the door for him, but most of them had been taken the night he had swung through the branches of the big oak at the bottom of the garden. The magazine had economised on space, printing the worst possible pictures from Dick's point of view. There was one in which he was clearing the branch by doing the splits, another in which he reached for one branch while hanging by another from his knees, but the centre of the spread was occupied by a large print of Dick crouched on a branch dozens of feet of the ground, looking down at Bruce who waited below with his arms extended as if to catch him. It must have been the only photo they had been able to get of them together.

Dick couldn't look away from the magazine and face his classmates. How would they react? In one blow, he had been exposed as being an heir to a fortune the likes of which they could only dream of, but also as a circus orphan being portrayed as some kind of teen Tarzan who spent his free time swinging from tree branches like a savage. Dick had already experienced their cruelty when all they had against him was that he didn't have enough money to be among them, but now they had the kind of ammo that high-schoolers only dream of. Yet, he knew enough of how they treated each other to know that they decided their friends according to the current business climate. Bruce Wayne was top dog no matter how you looked at it, which made him the puppy everyone wanted to play with. Dick's social life was going to be a mine-field for a while.

They also knew that he was an orphan. The wound from his parent's death less than a year ago was still raw, and now it was exposed. Everybody knew. Dick didn't like it, in fact he hated it. It was _his _business, not theirs. And if anyone even dared to mention it to him, express some kind of superficial, self-serving sympathy, Dick was going to get ugly.

"So? How come you've been holding out on us, man?" Frank asked again, with a nervous laugh this time, presumably in reaction to Dick's stricken expression. His voice brought Dick back to reality. He cleared his throat and tried to answer, tried to be smart about this and not make it worse.

"He didn't want the publicity," Dick replied. He even managed to look up at the boys around him and lean back in his chair, ignoring the magazine. He tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

"Oh yeah, I know what that's like," commented the boy on his right, knowingly.

"Oh, you do, do you?" picked up someone else. Dick just watched, letting the boys get on with it around him.

"Yeah, I do! The pap have been round my house the whole time since my dad sealed the deal in Dubai."

"Nobody cares about that, stop kidding yourself."

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe I should tell _my _dad to start sleeping with _his _secretary, then we can all be as famous as you!"

"Hey! That lying bitch was just after his money!"

"Anyway, Grayson, I was just wondering, since you don't have to pretend anymore, why don't you come to this party I'm having on Saturday?" Frank interrupted, giving Dick another smile. Dick wondered if it left a bitter taste in his mouth inviting the boy who had previously been a step below Nobody to his exclusive party, or if he was nervous because he knew how well it would reflect on him if he could get the Wayne heir to attend.

Dick didn't want to go, not really. None of these people were his friends, and he didn't want the hassle of having to ask Bruce, but at the same time, a part of him wanted to connect with these kids. He wanted to hang out with people his own age, something he'd never really been able to do, growing up in the circus. And surely, some of these kids would end up liking him for his personality instead of his potential wealth. They couldn't _all _be that shallow.

"I don't know… I'd have to ask," he hesitated.

The boy looked a little affronted that Dick hadn't tripped over himself to thank him for inviting him, but he swallowed it well and said "Sure, just get back to me when you know."

After that, the teacher came in and class began. The rest of the day carried on in much the same vein. People who had either never acknowledged him in the months that he had been going to that school, or who had actively shunned him, began trying to befriend him. By the end of it, he was thoroughly sick of their hypocrisy and was quite harsh with the worst of them, leaving them muttering in his wake. He knew he shouldn't, and that it was going to come back to bite him, but he wasn't allowed a moment's peace all day, and it was wearing on him. He missed the relatively quite school life he had enjoyed up till then. He could handle the odd confrontation with the likes of Joshua McTravis, as long as he didn't have to put with all the phonies fawning over him the whole time.

Even a couple of the teachers wasted a few minutes of the class to talk to him about it. They were so surprised, they said, they had no idea, he must feel so lucky, isn't it a weight off his chest? But thankfully, the others teachers either knew already, in which case they shot him sympathetic looks because they knew Mr Wayne had specifically instructed that it be kept a secret, or they didn't really care as they didn't need to suck up to Bruce to keep their jobs. But Dick could tell it was only out of a sense of professionalism and etiquette that most of them restrained themselves, and the minute they were not in front of a class, the staffroom would be just as full of gossip as the halls.

It took until fourth period for the headmaster to get in on the act. Dick was summoned away from class to his office, where the man expressed his deep regret, his desire to assist the Wayne household in any way possible, and his hope that it would not reflect badly on the Academy in Mr Wayne's eyes. Basically, Dick was being begged to keep Bruce from lashing out at the school in his fury over the scandal. More money-grubbing. It was pathetic in a grown man, and Dick found his mind wandering more than once. He watched the clock over the man's head, and gave it maybe another two hours before Bruce found out about the article, given that he usually got up soon.

Bruce's reaction was by far Dick's biggest fear. He knew that he was not at fault, but he also knew that he was going to suffer for this in some way. When Bruce got angry, he would retire to the study in the West wing at night, and summon Dick there. The billionaire hated not being in control, he hated being spied on, and he hated having his privacy stolen more than anything. _Gotham Gossip_ had no idea what they had started. Bruce would cover it up, control the damage, sweep it away like a dead leaf in the wind, but you don't expose one of Wayne Manor's secrets without paying for it.

Dick didn't care about them though. He cared about himself, and the fact that he was afraid to go home.

At the end of the day, his anger at his fellow students surrendered to his dread. He walked through the front doors of the school, his feet urging him to escape. But that was made impossible by the presence of a large black Rolls Royce waiting as close as possible to the school, in view of the front steps. Instead of the chauffeur, Alfred stood elegantly next to the open car door.

"Get in, Master Dick," he said. "Master Bruce wants you home immediately."


	7. The Good Boy

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the slow update, but we're both on holiday, which makes things difficult. In the meantime, enjoy this. The response to this story has picked up nicely, so I won't be changing the category or anything like that.

Chapter 7

Dick didn't say a word to Alfred as they drove back to the waiting Manor. Part of him wanted to, it wanted to speak a mile a minute, about everything and anything, just to distract himself and make him feel like he was a normal kid after all.

Maybe he could get the butler to be his friend, he could get the old man to laugh, to talk back to him like a cheerful cabdriver instead of the stern and professional chauffeur-slash-babysitter he usually was. Then when they got back to Wayne Manor, his parents would rush out to greet him, his mother would sweep him up into her strong arms and he would smell her sweet perfume of soap and chalk, and then they'd all go on the road again, like they used to. His world would be filled with bright colours and applause, and he would soon forget about Wayne Manor and the men who lived there, as if it had never darkened his horizon.

But that was just a part of him, the part left over from when he was five years old and the luckiest kid in the whole wide world, eating popcorn and cotton candy everyday and getting spoiled by the strongman who would lift Dick above his head with one hand, or the ringmaster whose tall hat dropped down around Dick's ears and made him giggle. The rest of him knew better. The rest of him was older, too old. It knew the world didn't work that way. Alfred would never laugh at anything Dick had to say, his parents were dead and they were never coming back, and he would never be free of Wayne Manor.

Dick had long since stopped rebelling against his fate. He didn't ask the world _why him?_, he didn't bother trying to reason or petition or resist. Things were the way they were and that was that. Sometimes bad things happen and there doesn't have to be a reason for it. Crying and grieving did not return what was lost or undo what had been done, so it was better to just let it happen, and make the most of what was left when it was over.

That was what he would be doing now. So the magazine had exposed his secrets, telling everyone that he was a circus orphan living with the richest man in Gotham, he would just have to endure it, just as he would endure Bruce. What else could he do?

Alfred opened the car door for Dick once they reached Wayne Manor. The butler escorted him all the way to the study in the West wing where the master of the house was waiting for him, leaving no possibility of escape.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door, not having said a single word to Dick since they had left the school. Dick's stomach was in his throat and his heart was at his feet. He was dreading this with a physical fear, while at the same time being afraid to feel anything. He had known that it would be _this _room he would be brought to, but it still made him sick. Deep inside him, he could still hear the primeval urge to run - _As if Alfred could catch you _- but he scolded it harshly for being foolish. He couldn't escape Bruce Wayne, not in this house, not in this city, hadn't he realised that by now?

_Hold still_, he told himself, _Just hold still_._ Endure it. _It was easier that way, less bruises.

"Come in," spoke Bruce from inside, his low voice sounding harsh and snappish. Alfred opened the door and motioned Dick through, then pulled the door closed after him so that he was alone in the darkened room with Bruce.

The study, the forbidden room that was a gateway to Dick's worst nightmares, pressed down on the boy instantly. Dick stared into the distance, refusing to focus on anything. He couldn't bear to see the broken silver lamp that had been moved to sit against the wall, out of the way but not removed. He was careful not to shift his weight too much, so as not to feel the sandy crunch of broken glass ground into the carpet. He kept his breathing shallow, knowing that if he didn't he would be able to smell the palette of bodily fluids that saturated the rug and smudged the furniture. The muted colours of the room made this all a little easier.

This room was the den of the darkest side of the Wayne son and heir. No one else came in here, except to satisfy its master. Alfred stayed away, leaving the room out of his cleaning regime. Those were his orders, but Dick bet he was grateful as well. Even Alfred must regret this particular secret of the Wayne household.

Bruce was sitting behind the desk, the revolving chair turned to the side so that he could look out of the window behind him at the verdant branches that kept the light from penetrating the room. Dick wanted to cross his arms and curl up on himself, but he forced himself to keep his hands behind his back, his fingers twisting together ceaselessly. His shoulders still hunched, however, and as he hung his head, he looked out from under his brow at his guardian. The only indication he could see of how Bruce felt was the one long finger that tapped the desk impatiently and the angry muscle that twitched in his jaw.

"I got a call from one of my lawyers today," said Bruce, his voice stiff but controlled, and Dick watched his finger stop tapping and scrape briefly across the surface of the desk as the hand curled into a fist. "Apparently, his wife is a big fan of the tabloids, and he thought I should know about _this_."

He sent a copy of _Gotham Gossip _skidding across the surface of the desk towards Dick with a slap. The boy flinched. The bubblegum-pink cover felt like an accusation.

Silence poured into the space between them like cement burying a man alive. When Dick still didn't respond, Bruce roused himself from his dark thoughts, and turned slowly to face him. Dick looked away, unable to meet his eyes. He felt guilty, despite having done nothing wrong. But he didn't know what the intimidating figure across the room was thinking. He could blame Dick for practicing in the garden, and making himself an easy target for a greedy photographer. The News Ninja probably would have got his picture eventually, if he was determined enough, but for the mysterious adopted son of the Wayne house to be caught swinging from tree branches just made it that much worse.

"Do you know what that is?" Bruce asked, impossible to read. Dick nodded tentatively.

Bruce's eyes flashed with fire, but then he composed himself. He leant back in his chair again and looked at the magazine cover, his black eyebrows cinching together with angry disapproval. Dick stood, waiting across the room as the billionaire simmered.

"They're going to regret this," he said, so quietly that Dick pretended not to hear as he was sure that the words weren't meant for him.

Then Bruce looked up at his ward as if he had only just realised he was there. "Why are standing over there? Come closer, sit down" he ordered harshly. Dick hastened to fill the lonely chair opposite him on the other side of the desk, sweating nervously, fiddling with his cuffs in his lap.

"Did you have any part in this?" he demanded suddenly, his sharp eyes drilling into the boy, looking angry enough to do some damage.

Dick shook his head frantically, "N-no," he stuttered, missing his voice at first. It would be very bad for him indeed if Bruce believed that he had helped with the publishing of his identity. But the man appeared satisfied, relaxing slightly and glancing down at the magazine again.

"Of course not," he muttered, "You're a good boy." He flipped open the pages with his fingertips as if they were infectious. "No, it was that damn woman… and this, this _News Ninja_," he added with contempt, his mouth twisting down in a sneer as if he tasted something bitter.

Dick had never heard him say anything even close to swearing before, and took it as an indication of just how enraged his guardian must be. He would almost have felt sorry for the pair, if it wasn't for the suspicion that very soon, he too would despise and curse them for what they had done.

Dick could have predicted that Bruce would react that way. His guardian never blamed him for anything. Nothing was ever his fault, anything he did wrong was just the product of the trauma of watching his mother and father plummet to their deaths before his very eyes. Anybody would lash out at that, Dick was not to blame. In protecting Dick from the outside world, and giving him the best of everything, Bruce included keeping him from any negative feeling. Bruce wanted him to be happy, to salve the bleeding gash of his parents' loss, and so nothing Dick did had any consequence or effect. Whether he was good or bad, he was treated the same. It was always somebody else's fault, and that was what scared Dick. His actions could cause real difficulties for others if Bruce saw it that way, and there was nothing he could do to change his guardian's mind.

Bruce's eyes lingered on the gymnastic photographs that accompanied the article and Dick felt a shudder flow over his skin.

"Is it too late to keep this from reaching the school?" Bruce asked suddenly, startling Dick as he looked at him again. The orphan nodded again, and Bruce grunted in disapproval. "How did they react?" he asked.

Dick cleared his throat as he thought of the best way to phrase it. "They seem pleased, they think I'm one of them now," he said.

Bruce looked at him strangely, "You _are _one of them, Dick," he replied. Dick felt pinned down, trapped. He wasn't going to contest Bruce Wayne's ownership of him, it was a waste of time.

The boy thought of how his peers had treated him that day. Most of the school was now clamouring to be his best friend. It would be easy for him to let them. It was fake and he knew it, but maybe, if he played along, they would get to know him, and get to like him for his personality. He could have real friends, kids his own age, something he hadn't really experienced in the circus. Sure, some of the other performers had kids of their own, but not many, and they weren't really the same age. Dick had always felt like he was either babysitting or being babysat. But now he had an opportunity to be _popular_. But could he bring himself to do it?

He had no experience with this sort of thing, he could mess it up and make a fool of himself. On the other hand, if he capitalised on his relationship with Bruce, then he doubted anyone would dare go against him. In fact, to assume the role they all wanted him to would probably be the most effective form of damage control he could employ. The only problem was, in the months that he had attended the Academy, he hadn't really noticed anyone that he _liked_. He couldn't say that he respected or empathised with any of his classmates. Except maybe for that one boy in the senior year, the one he'd seen in the Debate club, Richard Rawn. He seemed to be the only human at that school.

Dick remembered that he'd been invited to Frank Wilson's party on Saturday. He would have to ask Bruce. Now did not seem like a good time, but the billionaire seemed in favour of Dick integrating with his classmates. Maybe he would be open to the idea? Encourage it, even? Normally, Dick's instincts would have told him that Bruce didn't want anyone else getting too close to his ward, that he didn't want to let Dick out of the Manor and out of sight any more than he had to, but maybe this time he was wrong…

Who was he kidding? He was trapped here. Sure, he could go to parties, he could make friends, but he would be playing a role just like the others when they pretended to be his friend. He wouldn't be showing them his true self, because at this point, his self was twisted and broken and confused. He would only be pretending to be a happy fourteen year old boy who was glad to have been adopted into a lot of money. There would always be Bruce Wayne - the real Bruce, not the playboy disguise - watching from the shadows, and waiting for the time that they would be alone.

"The question is," continued the billionaire, looking down at the magazine again, "What to do now? How do we contain this? How can I regain control of the situation?" He murmured the words as if he was just thinking aloud, milling the various possibilities over in his head, not consulting with the boy in front of him.

Dick watched the dark figure of the older man pore over the magazine, almost able to hear the gears turning in his head as he formed a battle plan. However, the tightness around his guardian's eyes, and the black, compassionless cloud of fury and revenge on his brow worried him. Bruce Wayne was a powerful man. With a flex of his right hand, he could crush half of Gotham. He hardly ever used the empire his father had built for his own personal ends, but Dick felt that this would be one of those times.

Gotham Gossip would have had no idea what they had set in motion when they published their exclusive, they were presumably even quite pleased with themselves, but ultimately they would regret it. Nobody would realise where they came from, but the ripples created by the issue's splash when it hit the stands would be felt far and wide. Dick doubted the magazine would make it to another edition. Careers would be destroyed, names would be ruined, and at the end of it all, Bruce Wayne would emerge as untouchable and playful as ever.

Dick almost felt sorry for them, they were still human beings, with the right of free press. They hadn't known what they were doing when they messed with Bruce Wayne. And he felt afraid, how far was the Wayne heir prepared to go? Just how much would he let anger and revenge influence his decisions as he meted out their punishment? Dick's life would not be improved by a rampage.

He gathered his strength and found his voice. "What are you going to do?" he asked timidly.

Bruce looked at him with a jerk, as if he was surprised to hear him speak. Dick tried to keep his gaze on his face, and not flinch away. He felt small and inadequate, so powerless before the older, stronger man. Sometimes it felt as though Bruce held the power of life and death over him. But then Bruce smiled slowly, as if he found his ward's question endearing.

"Don't worry," he said. "Leave it to me, I'll take care of everything." As he spoke, he rose from his chair, and came round the desk. He stopped in front of Dick, and leant back against the wood, half-sitting, with one leg bent away from them.

"You'll see," he murmured, and he reached out with one hand to gently brush through the hair over Dick's ear. "I'll make it all go away for you."

Dick could only watch, his mouth dry and his heart running like a fugitive in his chest, as Bruce's hand held the back of his head. The man adjusted his position, and finished his thought.

"You're a good boy."


	8. The Famous Boy

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait, guys. We were all on holiday, and all that, but we're trying to get back on track. This chapter was written by Amber Spirit, props.

**Chapter Eight: The Famous Boy**

"Dick, put your seatbelt on."

The boy didn't know how he got himself into this situation. Everything was too fast, too rushed, the whole day passed like a blur and all the things he was expected to know suddenly flew out of his head. _Reporters, understand? I will take care of that so make sure…any information… cautious… first there is the press conference and then we will… rich but don't take anything they say or offer you seriously… -swer any questions but… - _At the time, it had seemed like more than enough preparation, but now he realized how ridiculous this whole situation was, how unprepared for Bruce's world he truly was.

_I was always good with crowds,_ he thought, staring at the flashing lights of Gotham passing him by behind the window of the expensive car._ So what's going on? Why do I feel so nervous?_

"Dick."

"Y-yes?" the dark-haired boy turned away from the car window to face his guardian with confused eyes, uncomfortably aware of their proximity. Bruce appeared to be focused on the busy road ahead, but Dick wasn't naïve enough to assume that the Wayne heir wasn't watching him. No. He was. And nothing escaped Bruce Wayne, not even the tiniest twitch of a muscle, the most insignificant reaction… To be quite frank, Bruce's presence was so intimidating because of the high level of sheer concentration the man maintained that it sometimes made Dick feel quite sick (the air around him always seemed to buzz and the boy felt like an insect being cautiously examined under a microscope).

"Your seatbelt. Put it on."

His response was a quiet "Ah…" and he reached for the seatbelt, his head still full of thoughts of the upcoming event that he's supposed to be a part of.

It had just started to rain outside and the harsh neon lights of the city became mere blurs through the window glass, little lights of green and red that gave him the illusion that he was in a different universe now and that it's too late for him to return. There is only him, the man and the car. He could hear no other sound but his own breathing and the gentle hum of the engine, almost undetectable. At the back of his mind the boy wondered if there were such things as sound-proof cars. If there were, he was sure that Bruce could afford one, but the implication of being trapped in it with his guardian sent chills down his spine, and he unconsciously moved closer towards the window.

His hands were stiff from nervousness as he tried to carry out Bruce's simple order. The seatbelt just kept slipping through his fingers and after his third try the boy gritted his teeth in frustration, unable to believe that he was so useless he couldn't even put _a fricking seatbelt on_. This was ridiculous. This whole situation was ridiculous. No way was he going to go to some stupid charity party with Bruce Wayne and pretend they are one cute happy family (argh, just the thought made the fourteen year old clench his fists in anger. Is he for real?!)

_He's going to show me off to all of his rich friends like some sort of a pet… I can't believe him… after all that secrecy… dressing me up in these fancy clothes… GOD, I hate this… and this stupid seatbelt just won't STAY STILL!_

He nearly lost his balance as the car abruptly came to a halt and Dick could see a hazy red light shining in front of him, the sidewalks full of dark shapes hurrying along them. It took him only a second to regain his composure and he turned to face Bruce, intent on asking him what the matter was, when suddenly the man was leaning towards him and Dick's eyes widened in terror.

It took all of his willpower not to shout (yesterday's encounter in the forbidden room was still fresh in his mind) and the fact that nobody would be able to hear even if he did terrified him to no end. He could feel Bruce's hot breath on his hair as the man leaned even closer and pressed their arms together, reaching for the seatbelt behind his ward's head. Bruce didn't even spare him a glance, instead he was fully focused at the task at hand; he swiftly grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it over the stiff boy, attaching it at the other side. Then he sat back and leaned against his seat again, his blue eyes focused on the red light blinking in front of them. All of this was done in a matter of seconds but Dick could still feel his heartbeat racing, he felt like he'd never been so terrified in his whole life.

He turned to look at Bruce but his guardian was already facing him with a strange little smug expression on his face, as if to say "See, that's how it's done." Feeling the familiar rush of anger come over him, Dick quickly turned back towards the window before the feeling showed on his face.

It took him a whole minute to realize it had stopped raining.

There were reporters. A_ lot_ of reporters.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!"

"-of the current state of economy, Mr. Wayne?!"

"What is your response to the spaceship project that has been-"

"-why did you keep Richard Grayson a secret-"

"Mr. Grayson!!"

"-has been some speculations about the last week's-"

"-your current reconstruction that causes thousands of jobs to be lost-"

"! What is your response to the-"

"Mr. Wayne!"

"-rayson!!"

Dick had to shield his face from the constant flashes of the cameras and when he felt somebody yank his sleeve and try to pull him closer, he had to stumble a little before prying the stranger's hand off.

He never saw so many journalists in one place. Their density was so great that Dick wasn't sure that all the buff security guys hired to clear a path for guests from their cars to the building would be able to fight off the excited mass. There were loud questions being shouted from every direction as reporters tried to get his attention, going as far as trying to slip behind the security and literally _drag him off_. Dick knew that journalists were vicious creatures but this was downright alarming.

"-your life with Mr. Wayne?!"

"-current protestations-"

"Mr. Grayson!"

It seemed that Bruce was the only one keeping his cool. His walk was confident and easy-going, and he already had his rich playboy persona in place - Dick could tell and he hated him for it. Occasionally he would stop to answer a question or two but his answers were always vague and sounded as if he gave them no thought at all. When asked about all the job losses that his latest project had caused, he simply brushed it off with a "I'm not responsible for other people's financial situations" and moved on to talk about his girlfriends.

It was certainly a mystery.

To Dick it seemed that the more outrageous and irresponsible Bruce's answers were, the more satisfied his guardian felt. It was like he was doing it _on purpose_. He had noticed this before, since Bruce's rich playboy façade was full of this kind of behaviour, but it still made him stop and stare now that he was seeing it in action.

Why was he doing this? What could he gain from pretending to be such a person? Why was he hiding all the hard work he put into his company?

"What is your opinion on Batman? His latest actions have caused-"

At the mention of Batman, Dick immediately turned to face the smiling billionaire to hear his answer, anxious to know how Bruce saw the dark hero of Gotham.

"?"

After a few seconds, he realized that the question was addressed to him. And although Bruce ordered him not to say anything to the reporters before the actual press conference, Dick turned to the middle-aged man and said,

"I think Batman is doing the right thing."

The reaction was almost immediate. As if realizing that Dick Grayson could, in fact_, talk_ and was thus able to provide all kind of dirt on the infamous Wayne heir (as if there weren't enough scandals about him already), all the reporters immediately went wild and tried to push the security off with their collective force, screaming and shouting new questions along the way. Dick immediately regretted his hasty decision and turned towards Bruce to see his reaction when he noticed something.

His guardian was looking back at him with the _strangest _expression on his face.

The whole process lasted perhaps three seconds but to Dick, it felt like eternity. It seemed that Bruce was surprised by his answer but that was not all. There was something else as well…something raw and incredibly powerful and it felt like a punch in the gut and Dick took a step away and-

"FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE!"

Dick had been able to hear the chants since he stepped out of the car, but only now could he decipher the actual words. It looked like that particular group of people had got closer to them during the time when they were ambushed by the photographers and reporters.

They obviously weren't journalists. As Dick tried to see behind the mass of loud reporters, he could see some banners held up high in the air with statements like **WAYNE STEALING JOBS FROM INNOCENT PEOPLE** or **GOTHAM DOESN'T NEED WAYNE** and this was all accompanied by the far-away chant of "FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! _FAKE WAYNE_!"

'_Well… SOMEBODY here doesn't like Bruce Wayne…'_ Dick thought as he obediently followed Bruce towards the building's entrance, stealing glances at his guardian to gauge his reaction. He knew Bruce was aware of the angry group but hid it behind his carefree billionaire persona, along with everything else. This made him feel angry and for a while, Dick mentally chanted with the rest of the haters '_FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE! FAKE WAYNE!_'

He simply couldn't wait till this whole night was over.

"A picture together! First page!" several photographers demanded, shouting and begging from behind the security's imposing figures, and at first the boy thought Bruce was going to ignore them, but then he felt a large hand grasp him firmly by the shoulder and before he knew what was happening, he was pressed against his guardian's side and the flashes attacked again.

He tried to smile, he really did but all that came out was an unnatural, hostile expression that had little to do with joy or contentment. When he looked up at Bruce he saw the man smiling pleasantly, which just caused Dick's hatred to flare inside his chest even more (FAKE WAYNE FAKE WAYNE FAKE FAKE FAKE) but he didn't let it show, instead putting more effort into his strained smile, trying to make it look more natural, more -_and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the incredible Flying Graysons! - _More like his old self up on the podium, full of pride and energy. He turned to face the cameras again because he was disturbed by watching Bruce's satisfied face. Dick always had to remind himself that the man was an excellent actor, but alarmingly enough, the expression on his face appeared almost… _genuine_and true. As if… he was really proud of him. As if he felt real affection for him and wanted to show him off to the whole world.

"…fake Wayne…fake..ne..ke Wayne…fake…ne….Way…fake…"

The man's hand was grasping his shoulder in a universal sign of ownership and Dick felt shivers go up and down his body from the unwanted contact. He could feel Bruce's body-heat against his side and suddenly felt hot with humiliation. Would these people be able to tell what happened last night just by looking at him? Didn't anything strike them as strange between the pair? Can't they see that Bruce's fingers are grasping him so tightly that it's going to leave marks? Can't they see?

Does he want them to see?

Overwhelmed by shame the boy obediently stood next to his guardian and tried to pretend he was happy to be there, standing next to someone he respected and admired and not the man he hated with all his might. He pretended there was no Bruce; instead he was standing with both of his parents in front of a clown with a camera, ready to make this season's posters, excited and proud to be part of the Flying Graysons. Slowly his smile brightened and he relaxed, and when Bruce led him to the huge entrance he followed without a second thought. He no longer felt nervous or unprepared, Dick was sure he could handle anything that Bruce or anyone else could throw at him that night.

Leaving the loud mass of reporters behind, he walked after his guardian, the angry chants now a mere hum in the background.

He was ready.


	9. The Boy and Business

**Author's Note:** Hello all, sorry about the very long wait, we've all been very busy. Hope you all remember what's happening, if not, well, you can always reread it Anyway, this is Amber Spirit's chapter again, enjoy.

Chapter 9: The Boy and Business

It was only twenty minutes after the press conference, but Dick hated this party already.

He felt a major headache coming on and his face hurt from all the polite smiles and other fake expressions. In his hand, he was holding a half-full flute of orange juice, which he drank to occupy his mouth whenever he had nothing to say or to avoid being put on the spot. He wasn't particularly thirsty - especially not after his third refill - but at a Bruce Wayne party, nobody could be allowed to be without a drink in their hand, such was his guardian's generosity.

'_As if this has anything to do with charity...' _Dick thought bitterly and looked around the glamorous hall filled with the chattering gossip of the beautiful and famous, and the more intimate murmur of the influential and rich talking business. There was a sound of a violin solo coming from somewhere beyond the crowd, and Dick remembered some famous musician being introduced at the beginning of the party. He held no particular liking for classical music or anything, and he was sure that half the people there had no idea there was even any music playing, but the artist's name was going to be associated with Bruce's in tomorrow's papers and wasn't that the point, really? It seemed all so superficial to Dick but he never once commented on it, choosing instead to play along with everyone else and pretend that he was enjoying this whole madness.

He was painfully aware of being the youngest person in the room. Although he had glimpsed some models and actors, all of them were at least eighteen and their clothes made them look older and much more intimidating. Dick looked down at his own expensive tuxedo that Bruce picked up for him that afternoon and, even though it fitted him perfectly, he still felt uncomfortable in it. How out of place he must look, a circus boy dressed in fancy clothes attending a fancy party... He knew he was standing out but then again it would be impossible not to, considering he was being dragged around by Bruce Wayne, and that man was like the centre of the universe. Wherever he went, people followed, and even though they all seemed to be engaged in a conversation of some kind, it was obvious that their eyes were following his guardian's each step. It wasn't just the man's money (of which Bruce had plenty) or his spoiled playboy good looks (of which he had even more) but the charisma and display of power that was present in his each and every gesture.

Although he seemed laid back and comfortable, there was always something that kept people on edge with Bruce, and this was easy to see as Dick was introduced to more and more people. The celebrities and foreign artists always tried a little bit _too _hard to make a good impression on the pair, and the countless businessmen and CEOs were always wary and even slightly nervous. To Dick, it seemed that no matter how hard Bruce tried to play the part of the reckless, spoiled billionaire, his true face always seemed to seep through and, like Dick, people instinctively feared it even though they couldn't quite understand why. Perhaps it was this fear that forced them to follow the Wayne heir with their eyes and always try to get into the man's good graces, often through his young ward. It must have been this that kept anyone from bringing up his circus background, though Dick could see the curiosity burning just behind their lips.

"-only few can. I expect you're looking to join us big boys in the harsh world outside, hmm? Somebody's got to help Bruce with the company... Or are you thinking of returning to – to what you're used to?"

Startled from his musings, Dick looked up from his drink to face the short, chubby man in front of him dressed in a rather elegant black suit that matched well with the rest of the males at the party. He was smiling down at him condescendingly, holding his own flute of champagne in front of him like a shield. Dick realized he hadn't paid enough attention to the question to answer it properly, so he gripped his glass tighter and quickly looked up at Bruce. The dark haired man was towering over both of them with a relaxed look on his face, but Dick knew he was waiting for an answer.

It had been like this from the very beginning of the party. Bruce would discreetly describe his business rivals and associates to Dick before introducing him, and then put him on the spot, as if it was all some kind of a test or something. Knowing his guardian didn't tolerate mistakes, Dick was stressed out trying to remember everything, especially concerning Wayne Enterprises. Since it was a massive multinational conglomerate, there were many people involved and this man in front of him - Michael Stranner - had something to do with Wayne Shipping... or was it Wayne Biotech? No , definitely Wayne Shipping. Yes, he was the CEO of the Rainne Ship Corporation, the first one in four generations whose last name wasn't Rainne. His company merged with Wayne Shipping, with Bruce owning 58 percent, Rainne Ship Corporation owning 20 percent and the rest was in public ownership.

Yes.

Remembering all this in only a split second, Dick put on one of his polite smiles on again (damn it, his face was _really_ starting to hurt) and pleasantly responded.

"I think it's too early to talk about..." He could feel Bruce's eyes on him and despite appearing calm, the little pause showed his uncertainty "...that."

'_Damn it, that wasn't smooth at all!_' Dick thought and nearly flinched at the sudden glare his guardian sent his way. However, it was there only for a second before easing into a practiced relaxed expression.

_This is bad. This is really bad. But...well what does he want me to say? I suppose if he sends me to a business school and tells me all about these Wayne Enterprises deals then he wants me to work for his company... But can he really keep me in the mansion after I'm eighteen? Is that even legal?_

_He's Bruce Wayne_, Dick's brain answered. _He can MAKE it legal. But I'd rather die than stay there. I'll find a way to get out, I have to._

Escape was impossible now, however. Bruce wasn't letting his ward out of his sight for a second.

Taking a sip from his glass, Dick tried to ignore his frustrated thoughts and focused on Michael Stranner, only to realize that the conversation was finished and that the man had already moved elsewhere. Standing next to his silent guardian, Dick felt like a dog that wanted to pull on its leash but was afraid of the punishment it would receive if it did. That was his life now, sitting still, staying quiet, behaving, no matter how badly he wanted to bite the hand that fed him.

He was just about to open his mouth to make some excuse to get away, when Bruce lifted his hand and gently put it on the top of the boy's head, almost hesitantly._ 'Guess he's not quite comfortable with the surrogate-father thing yet,'_ thought Dick. Probably for the same reason that made bile rise in Dick's throat whenever Bruce laid a finger on him.

When he looked up at his guardian questioningly, he appeared to be distracted, bothered by some nagging thought. Dick felt his mouth go dry.

"What you said..." Bruce seemed to have problems voicing his thoughts. Dick had never seen him like this, distracted and confused. His eyes weren't giving anything away, but the hand at the top of his head felt strangely kind, but patronizing at the same time. At first, he thought that this was all about his future in business and his vague response to the Rainne CEO, but Bruce's next words instantly eliminated that possibility.

"...before the press conference. When we got out of the car."

_Before the press conference? What did I say wrong?_ But it was useless, his brain was full of random facts about companies and mergers and CEOs, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what he said... He hadn't spoken to the journalists at all, did he? Bruce had certainly told him not to. The only thing that he had said was about...

"Batman? You mean that question about Batman?" Dick asked in a small voice. Bruce instantly withdrew his hand, as if burned.

"Never mind," he dismissed with a composed voice and turned away, flashing a smile at a pair of giggling models who were watching the whole scene with fascination. Dick realized that, from a distance, it must have looked like a cute father/son moment ,with Bruce affectionately patting his ward on the head, and the two women obviously thought so. They were heading towards them.

Dick turned back to Bruce. He just couldn't stomach another one of his guardian's flirting sessions, he simply couldn't. And his headache was getting worse. God, they were nearly here he had to say something.

"Er, I have to go to the toilet," Dick uttered distractedly, and turned around as if it was just to inform Bruce, not to ask for his permission. But both males were well aware that Dick couldn't even sneeze without his guardian's consent, and that letting Dick go off on his own was risky. There were plenty of people in the room that would have loved to hear about the things that were regularly taking place in the Forbidden room, and a mob of eager reporters from all over the world just outside. Dick knew this and so did Bruce.

The faintest frown marred the tall man's features, and he opened his mouth to forbid Dick from going, but then the women were upon him and Dick seized his opportunity, slipping away while he could. The women were much more interested in the handsome, wealthy bachelor than his teenage ward, and they quickly surrounded him, forcing him to laugh and flirt or risk his reputation. Dick was afraid, but he did feel much better and nearly forgot he was supposed to be looking for toilet as he made his way between all the dark suits and colourful dresses. It was the first time that night that he'd left his guardian's side. This could be an important opportunity for him. He didn't know _what_ he could do, but he could do _something_. He put his half empty glass of champagne on one of the tables and turned around to see if Bruce was still occupied.

The tall man was smirking at something one of the models was saying, but Dick could tell from the way he was subtly peeling her bare arm off his shoulders that he was trying to extricate himself and pursue his ward. The fourteen year old made his way through the crowd trying to put as much distance between himself and his tormentor. After a minute, he turned around again and was satisfied to see that Bruce Wayne and his girlfriends were nowhere in sight.

Suddenly feeling exhausted in a room full of strangers, Dick tried to see over the heads of the much taller adults to get his bearings, find a door or something, anything. His body still hurt pretty bad from last night. At the back of his mind he wondered if the sessions in the Forbidden Room were going to get more frequent, or if Bruce would start to get bored with him. Would the billionaire want his former life back once the novelty wore off? What would happen to him if Bruce ever kicked him out? Or started to hate and resent him? Anything would be better than four more years of what he was going through now. In the boy's tired mind he could see a half crazy version of himself, locked inside the disgusting study and forced to live there for all eternity with only his guardian's harsh hands to torment him each night.

_I really need to sit down._

He considered locking himself in a bathroom cubicle and hiding there for a while. He dismissed the idea almost immediately. Did he really think Bruce wouldn't organise a lockdown and send out a search party the second he couldn't find him? He knew the man could figure out some spin to put on it so that he came out on top. He'd probably play it off as paternal concern, and everyone would just love him all the more.

"Urgh, look at him. That guy has some nerve," a female voice stated bitterly, and Dick immediately turned away from the small table to face the stranger. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed there was anyone with him, and he'd jumped when she'd spoken, his heart suddenly racing painfully. Damn it, he'd been wasting time! Bruce would be after him any minute!

The speaker was an attractive woman, perhaps in her early thirties with short blonde hair elegantly framing a very familiar face. Dick couldn't remember where he'd seen her before, perhaps she was one of Bruce's endless supply of harem girls? Her tight dress glittered as she reached for one of the unidentified snacks on the table and brought it to her mouth with a quiet snarl, chewing on it with surprising violence.

"Excuse me?" Dick asked in a panic, not quite sure if the woman was addressing him. She gave him a small glance and then pointed with her gloved finger at a tall dark figure in front of them but well out of earshot. It was an older man Dick didn't know that had an air of a importance around him. He was speaking to a young girl and intimately holding her hand. The chewing woman next to him scoffed.

"I nearly ditched my husband for him, you know. He said he loved me and bought me all this stuff...You know we were supposed to go to Venice together this summer? Venice! I always wanted to go there!"

She was obviously drunk and very emotional and Dick took a careful step away.

"And look at the bastard now. He didn't even tell me, you know? I just came to visit him one day and there was sweet little Michelle Perra in his bed naked, smiling at me. _Smiling_, you get it?! That little bitch!"

People were beginning to look at them, whispering. Causing a scene was the last thing Dick wanted to do right now. The woman turned to face him fully and, after seeing him properly, seemed to calm down.

"What did you say your name was again?"

Not knowing what else to do, Dick responded truthfully. He supposed that if nothing else, at least this woman would give him the much needed alibi if Bruce asked about his absence.

"Dick Grayson."

"Grayson..." she trailed off, holding her chin in an exaggerated gesture of thinking. "I don't know any Grayzen."

"It's Grayson," Dick corrected her even though it made no difference. It annoyed him she mispronounced the name though. The Flying Graysons were pretty famous before... before he had to move away.

"Grayson, Grayson... I've heard that somewhere... oh! I know!" she staggered a little in her enthusiasm and clapped her hands a few times like a child. Dick raised an eyebrow at her drunken behaviour but didn't comment on it.

"You're Wayne's kid, huh? Oh, I can't believe I didn't recognize you, you're as cute as a button!"

She put her gloved hand on his head very much like Bruce did before he ran off, yet the touch was different and much less threatening and somehow even motherly. She patted his black hair a few times and then turned around to reach for the expensive snacks again. With a full mouth she continued in a much more bitter tone.

"Oh Wayne... I had him too once. But I knew it wouldn't go anywhere. I mean, that guy is what you would call an eternal bachelor. And with his fortune, well, who can blame him? I would put up with a lot of shit if I could get my hands on that kind of money and I'm definitely not the only one. And I'm pretty sure he knows it! Have you seen the numbers? It's insane!" At that she giggled and a few bits of caviar fell down in her cleavage. She didn't seem to notice, and Dick certainly wasn't going to bring it up, so the pair stayed silent while she munched on the food.

"He's really hot though which is like a rarity in rich guy, y'know? Seems almost too perfect, makes you think there has to be a catch, like maybe he's gay or something. What do you think?"

The woman was obviously not considering who she was talking to in her drunken state, but it still made Dick go rigid and stare at her wide-eyed. Was this someone he could _tell_?

She continued, though, before he was able to answer through his shock.

"But he isn't that type of a guy, and I would know." The blonde leaned even closer to him, putting her mouth to the boy's ear, cupping the other side of his head with her soft hand and almost losing her balance as she bent down. The smell of alcohol was thick on her breath, but beneath that, he could detect an expensive smelling, but surprisingly pleasant perfume.

"One of my sons is gay. The poor thing was teased so much about it," she whispered.

Dick jerked back in surprise upon hearing this and looked at the familiar woman again, watching her totter back into an upright position herself. She certainly seemed too young to have teenage sons, that was for sure. But then again, plastic surgery was (ironically, thanks to Wayne BioTech) so cheap nowadays, and who knows? Maybe she got pregnant as a teenager. It was none of his business, except he got that feeling that her facial features were so familiar... Maybe she was related to somebody he knew?

"You haven't told me your name yet," Dick asked bluntly, trying to figure it out as he faced the drunken blonde. She chewed on more hors d'oeuvres and then grasped one of the stronger cocktails on the table and downed it all in one go. When she turned back to him, her face was cheerful once again.

"Oh my god, are you trying to pick me up? I'm way too old for you, cutie!" This was followed by a girlish giggle and a light slap on his shoulder and Dick felt his cheeks heat up and he took a quick step back.

"No! No, I'm not, I just want to know -"

"You're, how does it go? Yeah, 'following in your father's footsteps'. I mean, your adoptive father's. You're like Bruce's son, right?"

"I'm not his son," Dick responded with a cold snap, but the woman completely ignored his comment and reached for another cocktail.

"Call me when you're legal and we'll arrange something. You must be super rich, right?" She found this comment completely hilarious for some reason and started laughing really hard. Dick wanted to leave very badly but he couldn't without at least getting her name. If what he thought was correct...

"Yeah, maybe, whatever, but what's your name?" he repeated his question and faced her fully, his eyes strangely intense for a boy his age. This seemed to quiet down the blonde quite a bit and she opened her mouth to answer...

"Enjoying yourself, Dick?"

Both of them instantly froze. Even before he turned around, Dick knew the owner of that voice and the fact that it was lower than usual spelled trouble for him. The fourteen year old faced his guardian with a guilty face and Bruce's eyes promised disapproval.

The drunken woman, of course saw nothing suspicious.

"Aah, Bruce, just the man we were talking about," she murmured drunkenly and put her empty glass back on the table full of exotic refreshments. Lightning flashed in Bruce's eyes and he quickly glanced down at Dick, fearing the worst, but the boy was staring back at him in barely contained terror, so the man just smiled charmingly and turned his gaze back to the woman. If Dick had revealed any dirty secrets, he would probably be taking the moment to gloat over what would now be a thoroughly ruined billionaire, not still looking at him with the same scared green eyes he was used to.

"I hope it's all about how the champagne is much better than last year," Bruce commented charismatically, his hand going to Dick's shoulder, locking him down.

"Ah! Lex's Charity Ball!" the blonde laughed loudly, and people turned around, but Bruce didn't seemed to mind, in fact he looked perfectly amused. "I swear it was the first time that LexCorp ever sponsored ANY charity event, and Luthor tried to poison us with that champagne. Next time I'm bringing a taste tester along."

The attractive woman laughed again and a few individuals standing close to them joined the conversation. In a matter of seconds, a small group surrounded the three and a rather malicious conversation broke out poking fun at Lex Luthor and his recent crisis with the Metropolis Mercantile Bank. This then lead to speculations about the effects of the economic crisis on S.T.A.R. Labs which lead back to LexCorp and its bank problems.

Dick only listened, making sure he remembered everything, trying not give Bruce any more reason to be displeased. But at the back of his mind he knew that it didn't matter anyway. Bruce would never be truly pleased with him, and after the party ended, the only thing Dick regretted as he sat back in the expensive sports car was that the drunk woman hadn't told him her name.

But then, he supposed it didn't matter anyway.


	10. The Boy's Hero

Chapter 10: The Boy's Hero

Dick trudged sluggishly through the illustrious halls of the Allen Bex Academy. The party last night had really taken it out of him. He'd only been able to slide into his own bed at one-thirty that morning, and he was exhausted from all the pressure and expectation he'd been subjected to from all angles, surrounded by the wealthiest men and women in the state. Needless to say, he was tired.

His new-found popularity at the school still hadn't relented. He must have looked as wretched as he felt, because most people had had the good grace to leave him alone for the day, but the ruling class was still after him. He'd tried to be polite but non-commital with the boys that did approach him, sucking up to and patronising him at the same time, but he was sure he'd offended most of them with a ill-hidden yawn or a lack of enthusiasm.

He'd made it through the day, however, and he was now making his way to his last lesson of the day, Debate. Today was the day that he had to give his pro-Batman speech. Thanks to the party last night, he wasn't as well-prepared as he'd hoped to be, but he had notes he'd made earlier in the week, and most of it was in his head, anyway. He knew how he felt, and he was confident that, while he may not win, at least he wouldn't embarrass himself.

He remembered the way Mr Drew had pushed him into volunteering, and wondered why the teacher felt such confidence in him. But then again, maybe he just needed to see him contribute in order to get enough marks on him for a report. Another thought occurred to him, that he would be seeing Richard Rawn in the class. It was the only class they had together since Richard was a senior, but Debate was extra-curricular, so any year could join. It was mainly the boys aiming for a career in politics who attended, but Bruce thought it was important, which was how Dick ended up there.

Seeing Richard could confirm or contradict his suspicions from last night. The drunk woman that had waylaid him at the party had reminded him of someone, and he suspected it was Richard. They were both blond, at least. And the woman had said she had sons, one of whom was old enough to know he was gay, so it was possible.

Dick pursed his lips slightly as he considered the obvious question. If Richard was her son, was he the gay one? Dick didn't really care either way. It wasn't as if they were exactly friends, they'd never hung out or anything. They'd barely even spoken before. Dick had never had anything against gay people, it wasn't something they could control, and who was he to judge? He'd grown up in the circus. While other kids were learning to ride a bike, he'd already mastered the high-wire and was starting on the trapeze. He hadn't even attended school until moving in with Bruce. Gay people had never bothered him before, and he didn't want to become one of those bigoted people who looked down on others for being different, but… He had to admit, recent events were starting to colour his vision. But Richard… Richard had always seemed so harmless, the only genuine, kind person in the whole school.

Dick sighed. It didn't matter either way, since they only crossed paths for an hour once a week.

The door to the classroom was standing open since the bell hadn't rung yet, and Dick walked through, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him as he moved to his usual secluded seat. As he sat down and began taking the notes he would need out of his bag, he noticed Richard across the room, sitting on a desk and talking casually to a small ring of his friends. The boy had looked up when Dick walked in, and when their eyes met accidentally, he quickly looked away. He didn't smile politely the way he normally did, which confused Dick. Maybe it was being outed in _Gotham Gossip_. Richard didn't seem the type to start sucking up to him now that he knew Dick was heir to billions of dollars, but he hadn't expected the teen to care about his circus background.

At that moment, the teacher swept in, quickly closing the door behind him before turning on the class and rubbing his hands together expectantly. Mr Drew wasn't one who wasted time with small talk at the beginning of a lesson, instead he instantly found Dick and his opponent, Clark Baxter, and motioned to the open floor in front of him.

"Richard? Clark? Are you ready to begin? Who wants to go first?" he said, looking between them eagerly as Dick got shyly to his feet and walked around the desk to stand in front of him, Clark arriving next to him. The other boy was looking belligerent already.

"I can," Dick said quietly, hoping not to offend Clark.

"Right," said Mr Drew, looking on in approval, scooching back on his desk, his hands clasped on his knees.

Dick turned around to face the class. He glanced at his notes and saw that his hands were shaking, so he lowered the pages by his side. He didn't really need them anyway, not to start off with. He cleared his throat and hoped the heat under his collar wasn't showing on his face as a blush. He was nervous as hell. Public speaking was not one of his things. Sure, he was used to performing in front of an audience much larger than the one there, but that was different. That was a rehearsed routine, and he had his parents there with him. He couldn't look any of the spectators in the eye. He also knew that, as far as high-flying was concerned, he was one of the best. It was in his blood and he'd been doing it since he was a child.

Public speaking was different, more intimate. He was exposing his personal thoughts and inviting the others to judge them and him. He could see the class watching him expectantly, some of them hostile, still considering him a stranger among them despite all of Bruce's money, some of them making a show of being encouraging, hoping to get on his good side, while some of them just looked curious. He didn't say much in this class, or any for that matter, so this would be the first time they'd hear him express himself.

He tried to steel himself, calm himself down, tell himself to get it over with. He had been paying attention in this class. He knew the basics, such as don't start your opening argument with 'So…' which he was tempted to do at this point. He decided to just say what he had to say.

"Batman is a hero," he began. "We need him. The police in this city are corrupt, and crime rates were astronomical before Batman appeared. He saw that there was a problem, and unlike everyone else, he decided to actually do something about it. Crime rates have dropped by 40 percent because of him. He wears a mask not because he's guilty, but because if criminals knew who he was they could find his home and hurt him or his family. If he seems extreme, it's because he needs to pose a threat to criminals in order to make them think twice. He's a monster to them, but to the innocent, the victims, the general public, he's an idol. He's meant to inspire us, to show us that we can make changes and defend ourselves and pull this city out of the gutter, if we try, and that he's there to help us do it."

He glanced at Clark to signal that he'd finished his introduction, and the other boy faced the group to give his.

"I disagree. Batman is a criminal himself. There is no denying that he breaks the law. Apart from being a vigilante, which is illegal in itself, he is also guilty of untold property damage, trespassing, reckless driving, endangerment, assault, grievous bodily harm, interfering in a police investigation, the list is infinite. Any criminal that has the misfortune to be targeted by him is attacked without having their rights read to them, without due trial, they're not even proved guilty. Batman goes far beyond 'necessary force'. He cannot be a role model to the citizens of Gotham when he is a criminal himself, and a violent one at that. It makes no difference that his victims are offenders themselves, surely they too have the right to be protected by the law from the severe injury inflicted on them by this so-called 'hero'.

"You say the police in this city are corrupt," Clark continued, beginning to counter Dick's points. "But that's what Internal Affairs and federal powers are for. Change should not be brought about by fear and violence, but by careful investigation by recognised officials followed by due process carried out by courts and juries. I bet those crime rates you mentioned don't count crimes committed by Batman himself. We have to consider that he may very well be mentally unstable - after all, a full grown man dressing up as a bat at night isn't exactly the behaviour of a sane man, is it? Is this the man we should be entrusting our safety too? How long before he misunderstands a situation and attacks an innocent passer-by, hospitalises someone for shoplifting, or it all goes to his head and he develops some kind of God-complex? One man cannot be allowed to exert this kind of force on a population. He's dangerous," Clark finished, turning back to Dick with a challenging look.

Dick began his counter-argument. "How many years was it before Batman came that the mob was allowed to run the police? How many opportunities to intervene did the Feds pass over? The truth is that this city was so buried in crime than no one wanted to come near it. No one was doing anything, and anyone who tried was assassinated. That being said, Batman does not target police officers. He is leaving them to their own. He only intervenes when he catches a criminal red-handed on the streets, or when he knows they are guilty for certain. Yes, he breaks the law, but he doesn't do it just because he can. He takes no liberties. He just does what he has to do in order to bring the guilty to justice. He has never killed anyone, preferring instead to tie them up and let the police arrest them.

"These are people who have broken the law, yes, they have rights, but so do their victims who are innocent. Surely, _they _need to be protected first and foremost. We can't be worrying about rights when someone's life might be at stake. The truth is, Batman saves lives. He might cause some collateral damage, but how can we calculate the money he has saved by stopping thefts and bank robberies? A lot of bad things happen in this city for a lot of stupid reasons, and the criminals are so entrenched, and have so much power, that we need someone like Batman who's strong enough to get in the way without getting killed."

Dick had calmed down somewhat. His adrenaline was still going, and he knew it was vital to listen to every point Clark made in order to counter it, but he was managing to say what he wanted to say in a coherent and convincing way, and he was beginning to feel better. He scanned the group of teens in front of him to get a feel of how they were receiving his argument. He was amazed that every single one of them was listening intently, some people frowning in concentration, leaning forward in their seats, or nodding occasionally in agreement. Batman was a hot topic, after all. However, as Clark began speaking again, he was startled by one pair of eyes that stayed on him. He met Richard's eyes in confusion only to watch as the older boy blinked and looked away in a hurry, trying to pretend that he hadn't been looking, shifting in his seat so that he was facing Clark.

Dick ignored it and paid attention to the other boy's argument.

"Nobody asked for Batman. He is a vigilante, taking the law into his own hands, which is a crime. And look at the results; psychos like the Scarecrow and the Joker with plots on a scale this city has never seen. These people only appeared after the Batman. If we need him, he has created that need himself by encouraging the development of more people like him, freaks with no regard for anything. He's doing more harm than good. I think anyone who supports him is just infatuated with the sense of adventure. They ignore the damage he does, choosing instead to focus on the ideology of it. Just because he inspires hope to some people, doesn't mean we can allow his rampage to continue. Regular policemen save lives too. We can't be _childish _about this," Here he looked directly at Dick insultingly. Guess he wasn't one of the ones sucking up to him. "Superheroes belong on TV. This is the real world."

Dick looked down and scratched his nose, taking a moment. Clark was turning this into a slanging match rather than a debate. The question was, did Dick want to lower himself to the other boy's level, and possibly show him up in front of the class, which would be very satisfying, or did he want to maintain a logical argument and keep the higher ground? He thought that, maybe, if he chose his words carefully, he could do both.

He looked back up at the group, ignoring Clark as if he hadn't noticed the personal slur. "I think we have to admit that most of us," - _By which I mean you _- "Don't really know what the 'real world' is like. We don't have to walk home from a second job through the Narrows at night. We have chauffeurs, money and opportunities. We live in good neighbourhoods and have doormen. _We _don't need Batman, but the vast majority _do_. They don't have the security we do. Batman exists for them, and maybe we can't appreciate the role he plays on the streets. How many of you have had a crime committed against you personally, or even seen a gun? People are getting killed arbitrarily, murdered in front of countless witnesses, with no one ever being arrested for it. That kind of thing ruins your life. It has to end, by whatever means necessary."

Dick noticed some of the boys looking away uncomfortably, and he realised he might have let a little too much of his own emotions show. The last thing he wanted to do was treat these spoiled, narrow-minded brats to a personal rendition of his sob-story. They didn't deserve it, and he didn't want to win on the sympathy vote. He tried to think of one of Clark's points to refute, to get the debate back on track.

"And Batman is not responsible for the actions of the Scarecrow or Joker. Anything they did was their own choice."

When he indicated to Clark that he'd finished, he didn't quite meet his eye.

"I don't believe that having money blinds us. Our families work hard, so can anyone else if they want what we have. That's the American way. If we don't know what it's like on the streets, well, I guess we can't all be lucky enough to grow up in a circus and watch our parents die right in fr-"

"Clark! That's enough!" Mr Drew interrupted sharply, his intense anger and disappointment showing clearly on his face. Dick was glaring at the other boy, his fists straining at his sides. This was the result of everyone knowing about him from that goddamn magazine article. He knew the students in this school were monsters. Clark had just proven Dick right that he couldn't possibly imagine the importance of Batman, of seeing someone try to change things, of having a _hero_ to someone who had suffered because of Gotham's corruption. Dick had never felt more acidic, as if this rich kid had _any _idea of what he went through.

Clark just turned away from Mr Drew and said an insincere "Sorry," with a slight smirk.

Mr Drew saw Dick's face and said, "I think we'll stop it there today. You both gave good arguments. Are there any questions in the class?"

Some of the boys, ones Dick knew to be in Josh McTravis's circle, were glancing at each other proudly, glad to see the impostor taken down a notch. Others were simply avoiding eye-contact, either because they had nothing to say, or because they didn't want to say it. Now that Clark had played the 'Your parents are dead' card, not even their interest in Batman could get anybody to say anything. But then Dick's eyes fell on Richard Rawn again. The blond was scanning the classroom, apparently aware that no one was speaking, then he slowly put up his hand, looking at Dick.

"Richard?" nominated Mr Drew.

"If you could know Batman's identity, would you want to?" spoke the teen.

Dick's eyebrows twitched up for a second. He hadn't really considered it.

"That's a good question, Richard. Either of you want to answer it?" responded the teacher.

Clark jumped in first, which gave Dick time to think about it. "Yes, I would. I think Batman's identity _should _be known, because then he can be held accountable for his actions. As it stands, he has no fear of the law," he said.

"Interesting. What do you think, Richard?" Pursued Mr Drew, this time talking to Dick. The boy gave the only conclusion he had been able to come to, something he _felt_, more than something he rationalised.

"No, I wouldn't want to know. Humans have flaws, and make mistakes. They can be mediocre and weak, getting sick and eventually dying. Batman does the most good as an image, an idea. He needs to be stronger than one man can be," he answered.

"Okay, very good. Do we feel like a vote? Who's _in favour _of letting Batman continue?" Mr Drew asked.

At first, no one raised their hands, too afraid to be seen to be siding with the circus orphan, but then Richard confidently put his up, and several others followed, until the small majority of the class was voting for Dick to win. Clark pouted petulantly, but Dick was surprised at how good it felt to be supported. He only won by one or two votes, but that was much better than what he'd experienced in a long time. Since the circus, even. He looked down and tried not to grin, in case it looked like he was gloating. But he did glance at Richard in gratitude, and received a faint, shy smile in return.

"Alright, Richard wins! I think we'll leave it there for today," finished Mr Drew, getting up off the desk and gathering some papers. Dick returned to his seat and put his notes in his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. When he walked past the teacher on his way out, the man stopped him gently and said, "I apologise for Clark's comment about your background. I would never have let him participate if I had known he would behave so deplorably, but that article came out after you two had been chosen, and it seemed to be a topic you were passionate about. Since you didn't say anything, I thought it best to let you compete. I hope you won't let this deter you from volunteering in the future." The man looked genuinely concerned about Dick's debate career.

Dick shook his head and mumbled that it was alright, before extricating himself quickly and heading for the door. Just before he reached the threshold though, a voice calling out made him halt.

"Richard, wait a second!"

He looked up and saw it was Richard Rawn, hurriedly packing his bag as he said goodbye to the friends that surrounded him with plenty of smiles. Dick waiting awkwardly in the doorway, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, then Richard was with him. The blond gestured for Dick to walk in front, then followed him out.

"Well done in there, you made some good points," the boy said, walking close beside Dick, but not quite meeting his eyes as they walked slowly through the corridors to Dick's locker.

"Thanks," Dick replied shyly, not unaware that the other boy had to dip his head and hunch his shoulders slightly in order to talk to him.

"What I wanted to talk to you about, though," Richard said, laughing uncertainly and running a hand through his blond hair. If there had been girls in the school, they would have swooned as he walked past, Dick thought. But then again, maybe it wouldn't make a difference to him if he was gay. Dick wondered what could have him so embarrassed, he'd never seen the older boy be anything other that comfortable and at ease. He continued, "I mean, I want to apologise, Richard."

"It's Dick," he corrected.

"Oh, right, well that makes things easier between us, doesn't it?" said Richard, looking in his face properly and smiling so that it touched his blue eyes. Dick had been braced for the usual little smirk that his name was habitually met with, but Richard's face was completely innocent, as if the double meaning didn't even occur to him. Dick found himself liking him for that.

"Anyway, I wanted to apologise for my mom last night, at Bruce Wayne's party. I know she got a little drunk, and she told me you were there, and I'm just sorry if she said anything embarrassing," Richard clarified, glancing at Dick and forcing a laugh.

So Dick had been right when he'd thought the woman looked familiar. She was Richard's mother, as he'd suspected. They shared the same fine features, as well as their hair and eyes.

"Oh, no, don't worry, she was fine. It was nice to talk to someone fun rather than just another businessman," Dick said, hoping to reassure Richard.

The blond laughed again, this time with the faintest hint of bitterness. "Yeah, my mom's fun alright," he said, as if he was thinking of something darker than his words.

They reached Dick's locker and Richard leaned against the row as the younger boy unlocked his and began switching his books.

"How come you were there, anyway? Do you always go to Bruce Wayne's parties? Because he's your, er…" Richard wondered innocently, before stopping, his expression looking like he thought he might have stepped on a landmine.

"Guardian?" Dick finished for him, his jaw clenching, making sure to keep his face turned to the shelter of his locker in case it gave anything away.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I put my foot in my mouth sometimes," Richard apologised. Dick said nothing. "It's impressive though, not many people our age get to go to a Wayne party. It'll be good for you when you graduate. I can only imagine the contacts you'll have." He laughed, "But then, there's nobody higher up than Bruce Wayne for a connection. I guess you'll be wanting to go into Wayne Enterprises, huh?"

Dick couldn't believe it. Why was everyone asking that, putting pressure on him when he was only fourteen? Working for Bruce, or ever hearing that name again in his adult life was his worst nightmare, but everyone expected him to be grateful. Even the nicest guy in school couldn't stop talking about his tormentor.

Dick grunted in reply, digging deeper in his locker.

"The truth is, Dick, I was hoping to ask you something. Now I don't want you to think this is just because of that article in Gotham Gossip, but I wouldn't have found out otherwise," Richard began as Dick was closing his locker, making him freeze at the mention of that accursed magazine. "You were in the circus, right? You were a trapeze artist?" Richard asked eagerly.

Dick forced himself to start moving again, locking the metal door.

"Well, I was hoping that might mean that you'd want to, maybe, join the school gymnastics team? I'm the captain, and I'd loved to see what you can do. We win prizes you know, compete on a national level… Does it sound like something you'd be interested in?"

Dick was surprised. He hadn't even known the school _had _a gymnastics team. _Would _he want to be on it? If Bruce disapproved, it would mean endless grief, but he might not. It was an extra-curricular activity, after all, and a competitive one at that by the sound of it. And it would be a connection to his past. He'd have proper equipment, training. He wouldn't have to sneak out to the oak trees anymore. As soon as he let the idea in, it took him over, and he realised that it _was _something he wanted. Badly.

Richard noticed his silence and continued. "I'd have to see what you can do first, of course. Work it out properly. But I think you'd be perfect. Maybe we could meet up sometime to discuss it? I have a little gym with some bars in my basement, maybe if you came over, I could give you a little audition, show you the kind of stuff we do."

The older teen looked hopeful, but Dick's blood was running progressively colder as he thought about Bruce's reaction, like a tap when the hot water's running out.

"You want me to go to your house? I don't think I'd be able to do that, I mean, I'd have to ask Bruce first… Why don't we meet during school hours, for lunch or something? What?" Dick said, noticing Richard's expression.

"I'm sorry, it's just weird, hearing a fourteen year old call _Bruce Wayne _by his first name. If you grew up the way I have, you'd understand. But alright, lunch it is. Next Monday, is that okay?" he said, and he just looked so harmless and well-meaning that Dick couldn't bring himself to say no. He could always cancel later, and who knew? Maybe Bruce would say yes.

And maybe he wouldn't summon his ward to the forbidden room anymore.

Dick nodded, deciding to placate the blond for now until he'd had time to think it over properly. "Yeah, okay, sounds good," he said, starting to walk to the main doors where the Rolls would be waiting for him.

Richard smiled at him again. "Great. Have a nice weekend, Dick," he said, and broke away, waving over his shoulder as Dick descended the white stone steps towards the black car that was parked not too close, the way it had been last Wednesday when Gotham Gossip had blown his cover, but not far enough to be out of sight of the steps.

Could he really do it? Joining the team would mean at least another hour a week away from Wayne Manor, probably more, and he might end up making friends with his team-mates, which Bruce might not like. If he made friends, who knew what he might tell them? All this experience was teaching him was that it didn't matter what _he _wanted - for the foreseeable future, all that mattered was Bruce's will. He had the power of happiness and misery over the boy. As he slid into the car, he felt the iron bars of Wayne draw tighter around him, barely leaving him room to breathe. Would it ever end? Surely he couldn't survive like this.


	11. The Boy and the Bat

**Author's Note:** Hello, everyone. First of all, thank you to everyone who has stuck to with this story, we appreciate it. We love this chapter, AmberSpirit and I. She wrote it, and it scares the CRAP outta me. Just hearing about what she was planning on writing gave me chills. Seriously scary stuff. Um, other than that, please review. We'd like to know who we're writing for. In fact, just out of curiosity, how many of you understand what's going on? Know what the dark secret of Wayne Manor is? Frankly, if you haven't figured it out by the end of this chapter, I don't know what we're going to do. So tell us your favourite bits, your least favourite bits, etc.

Chapter Eleven: The Boy and the Bat

Dick stepped inside the expensive automobile and quickly shut the door, turning towards the driver with a polite smile.

"Hello," he said as he placed his leather schoolbag on the seat next to him.

There was a stiff response of "Good afternoon," and the car started to move.

This time it was not Alfred but his usual chauffer, who Dick always mentally referred to as Mrs. Dominatrix, because of… well, the obvious reasons. He didn't know the woman's name and it was very hard to tell her age since she always wore a thick layer of make-up and extremely red lipstick. Combined with her stony expression, red hair pulled up in a tight bun and a tight black suit, she gave Dick the impression that she would bring out a whip if he ever refused to step into the black vehicle. She never talked to him and almost always ignored his questions. Sometimes, Dick wondered if this was Bruce's doing as well, as if she was instructed not to say anything and appear unapproachable and cold to him.

'_No, that's ridiculous,_' Dick shook his head as he looked out of the window. '_Despite what_ _Bruce would perhaps like to think, he's not a God, and he doesn't control everything_.'

As they drove closer towards the manor, Dick felt the familiar dread creeping up on him and his neutral expression was replaced by a frown. He tried to cheer himself up with the thoughts of the gymnastics club. If he was allowed to join then maybe, if he tried hard enough, they could see past his guardian and begin to appreciate him for himself and his own skills - as Dick Grayson, the talented acrobat and not as Dick Wayne, the son of the richest man in Gotham. He could put the skills his parents taught him to good use and perhaps start competing, even professionally. Besides, he would feel much better after exercising, and releasing all the pent up rage that had started to build in him ever since the night he was first summoned to that dark study.

And Richard...

The tall boy was the captain of the club and if Dick joined it would mean spending more time with him. If there was anyone in that rich-boy school that Dick found himself admiring, it was definitely Richard, and for some inexplicable reason he felt like there was a connection between them that had nothing to do with their names or passion for gymnastics.

Of course, that was laughable in itself. While Richard was friendly, popular and charismatic, everyone saw Dick as a quiet, bitter boy that didn't need other people's help or company. They couldn't have been more different. But deep down Dick needed other people, and he feared that if he was completely cut off from his classmates then he would be left alone and forced to depend on Bruce for company, his world slowly shrinking over the years until there was nothing left but Wayne Manor and its terrible master.

'_Perhaps that was his plan all along,' _Dick thought with widening eyes as he collapsed onto the leather backseat. '_He put me in that school with the whole scholarship student story because he knew they were going to reject me for that. He didn't want me to have friends, he planned it all…'_

'_No, stop being so paranoid, Dick. There is no way that he planned it all. Besides even if he did, this is the time to prove him wrong. Give Richard a chance. When was the last time you could call anyone a friend?'_

Dick couldn't remember. His childhood was full of travelling and training, and while he was often playing with the nearby kids, he never stayed in one place too long, and there was nobody his age in the circus. He always had company, but never somebody he could call a friend.

'_A friend…_' Dick thought, desperately trying to fight that treacherous feeling of hope that began to bloom in his chest. He didn't want hope. Hope was meaningless in the darkness of Wayne Manor and Dick could not afford another disappointment. He simply couldn't.

"We're here."

The curt statement raised Dick from his thoughts and he realized that the car had stopped and that they had reached their destination. Mrs. Dominatrix was quiet as usual when Dick took his bag and stepped out of the car, and she immediately drove away after he closed the door. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Dick made his way inside the towering building and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

'_I suppose all the excitement from the debate club finally wore off..._'

He decided to take a short nap before dinner. He didn't know if Bruce would be joining him since it was a Friday, but he was sure that Alfred would wake him up if he overslept. The butler always made sure that Dick didn't miss any of his meals, whether the boy liked it or not.

Dick quietly walked up to his room and put his school bag on one of the couches near the enormous plasma TV. Looking at it now, he suddenly felt a strong desire to try one of the not-yet-unwrapped games lying innocently on the opposite shelf, and this trail of thoughts surprised him since he'd never thought about it before. He always felt too unsafe to be enjoying himself in the manor, as if Bruce would step into his room any second and see him playing instead of studying or anything else that his guardian considered productive. Besides, he never thought he could enjoy _anything_ which that man had bought for him, and he rarely even touched the expensive consoles. And he used to love video games…

And yet…

He felt like playing now. Like he could call Richard and they would spend the whole day in Dick's room, shooting aliens or laughing over some crude comedy while stuffing themselves with snacks. Then they could go into the backyard and Dick could show off some of his tricks, and impress Richard so much that he would have no choice but to ask him to represent them in the next championship. Then they could play some sport, just the two of them, like football or -

Getting lost in the daydream, Dick put the game down and made his way towards the large window, mechanically opening it to let the soft breeze ruffle his hair. Taking off his school jacket and loosening his tie, Dick didn't bother with the rest of the uniform as he threw himself on the luxurious bed and closed his eyes, his head full of the notion of friendship as he felt the gentle wind tickle his cheeks. Annoyed at himself, the fourteen year old rolled onto his back in frustration.

'_This is stupid. Stop thinking about it, you're acting like some sort of a friend-starved loser or something. Richard just wanted me to be on his team - which is not going to happen anyway because Bruce will say no. So what's there to think about?'_

Slowly his thoughts started to disappear one by one, like a herd of sheep being preyed on by a wolf, as exhaustion finally took the boy over_._ Yet despite his efforts to forget the short conversation, before Dick fell asleep, his head was full of Richard and how the blond didn't laugh when he told him his name.

_He had the most unusual dream. And in this dream he was a beast._

_As he roamed the streets of Gotham in his huge animal form, Dick was overwhelmed by the feeling of power and freedom. He was free to do whatever he wanted and go wherever he pleased. It was intoxicating, and the city called out to him like one of his own, the air stinging cold and refreshing on his fur. He jumped from roof to roof, patrolling the streets with a familiarity that was only born from a hundred nights such as these. He knew exactly where to jump and how much strength he had to put behind his powerful movements to get there._

_He was the King of Gotham and his roar could be heard throughout the whole city._

_Yet as he was nearing the darker side of the city, his heart started to feel uneasy. The bright night sky seemed to darken and there was a strange smell in the air, picked up by his animal senses. As he looked up, he saw a sudden light appear on one of the darker clouds, and it took him some time to realize it was in the shape of a bat. The Bat-signal. He could feel the fur on his muscular shoulders start to bristle._

_However, as he looked at the sign, it became less defined, almost as if the light itself was moving. As he took a confused step back, he realized that the thing in the sky was not a light shaped into a bat, it was a bat itself. An enormous one._

_Terrified without knowing why, his beast form turned and started to run away, but it was already too late. The giant bat came down and, with a dramatic sweep of its dark wings, Dick was swallowed by its sheer size, until darkness was all that was left. He struggled for a long time, with all his might, but it was no use. The bat was too big, too strong; it was everywhere and he had no light to guide him out. He knew he was now a part of the bat, and that the only way he was ever going to see his beloved streets of Gotham again would be through its eyes. He stopped struggling, accepting his fate, letting the bat have control. The once-powerful beast curled into a small ball and he closed his eyes, lonely and exhausted. The giant bat tightened its hold on him until the tip of its wings brushed against his animal face. He flinched but didn't try to fight the unwelcome touch, letting the bat do as it pleased. He was no longer King._

_He woke up with that thought._

There was a hand on his face. He could clearly feel a hand on his face and this realization woke Dick instantly and the boy jerked away reflexively, his eyes wide open and his breath coming fast.

But he couldn't see in the dark. A rush of panic went through him. How long had he been asleep? What time was it? Why hadn't Alfred woken him for dinner? And while his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness, he prayed that it wasn't so late that Bruce had come home and discovered he had missed a meal. Bruce didn't like it if he showed any sign of taking the butler or his efforts for granted, and skipping one of his carefully prepared meals qualified. But maybe there was still time if he went now, maybe Bruce wasn't back yet.

Dick searched the impenetrable darkness for whoever had been touching him in his sleep. Against the lighter navy of the night sky shining through the windows, his room appeared to be empty. He told himself that the hand on his face was the butler himself, waking him now for a late dinner… Supper, maybe… But the old man rarely touched him, and never so intimately. And if he had been the one, then normally he would be standing at the edges of the room, his back as straight as a stone wall, hands behind it, and his face ghostly in the shadows, but there was no one.

The boy absently lifted his hand to his temple, wondering if the warm touch was just another part of his strange dream.

"Alfred?" he whispered into the room, aware of eyes watching him from some dark corner, but there was no reply. A chill went over him.

All he could see was the windows, the cold night air of Gotham creeping through to freeze the room. Dick remembered the terror he felt as the bat creature descended on him and consumed him whole and he shivered. He decided he should get up and close the window, turn on the lights and stop being so silly. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and he didn't have to be afraid of the dark. There weren't any monsters hiding there. The only monsters he knew of didn't bother with that, they had special rooms for their torture, and while it was never well-lit, Dick could always see – and feel - every painful, nauseating, grotesque detail.

But as he moved, something else moved with him, and he froze. He hadn't quite seen the movement, hadn't felt it or heard it, but somehow the darkness had rippled and suddenly he _knew_ something was there.

His eyes, round and white in the dark, fixed on the end of his large bed, a blank black wall. Then, a hand was born from the shadow, coming forward to rest near his knee, pale in the unlit room.

"I hope I didn't frighten you," spoke a deep, toneless voice.

Ice crusted over his heart, freezing his veins. It was Bruce.

"You seemed to be having a nightmare," the voice commented, as if that single fact explained what he was doing in Dick's room so late.

No. No, this couldn't be happening. Bruce never came to his room. Never. They went to the forbidden room. He was supposed to be safe in the rest of the house, in here. It was the only reason he could get to sleep at night. Bruce wasn't supposed to come to his room.

"I thought it would be best to wake you."

Dick swallowed, trying to force down the excruciating ball in his throat. Bruce was here. _Talking to him_. Maybe it was still a nightmare. Dick couldn't see his guardian's face in the gloom, but he didn't sound angry, although it was always hard to say with Bruce. One minute he could be calm, and the next…

Dick tried speaking. Keep things normal, keep it light, don't let it -

"I-I guess so. I don't remember what it was about though," he lied nervously. There followed a small pause, that instead of slowing down Dick's erratic heartbeat, only rushed it up further. He sat up straighter, against the headboard, moving away from the disembodied hand in the process, and drew the bedcover up protectively.

"How was school today?" asked the voice, the speaker still invisible, throwing Dick off balance with the change of subject. He might almost have said that the man was stalling for time, which would be extremely unusual. Bruce Wayne took what he wanted.

'_Is he going to make me…? But why in my room, why now? He could have just sent Alfred, and make it nice and clean and simple and convenient like he always does…'_

"Fine. The teachers are busy planning the field trip for our English class and, and -" He found himself babbling, spurting out anything to keep this from going wherever it was headed. He was unwilling to share his Batman speech with Bruce, as if the older man might somehow dirty his opinion by knowing about it. Yet Bruce already knew what Dick thought about the Dark Knight, didn't he? '_I think Batman's doing the right thing._' Really, what had he been thinking…

Suddenly, his guardian's strange reaction sprang to his mind and Dick remembered Bruce's half-hearted attempt to ask him about it during the party. Bruce definitely acted strange whenever Batman was mentioned. Maybe he had met the man? Had a bad experience? Maybe he disapproved of Dick's support for him?

Suddenly curious, Dick faced Bruce with a guarded expression.

"…and I had speech in Debate," he stated with a voice still unsteady and unsure whether what he was doing was really that clever. When Bruce fell silent again, he pressed on, adding with something that could almost be said to be pride in his tone: "I won." He waited for his guardian's reaction.

It seemed to spark Bruce's interest. He put his left hand on the bed in an effortless gesture, where it brushed against one of the boy's thighs casually, and leaned against it, his face looming forwards out of the darkness. He was smiling.

"I expect nothing less from you, Dick," he replied, his voice masculine and deep. Dick tried to move his thigh away without making it obvious but it was impossible, so he lowered his face. He could not stand looking at Bruce when he was playing that I'm-so-proud-of-you-Dick game that he liked so much. Sometimes it was so hard to bear, he felt like buckling under the pressure.

'_You could have been like a father to me,'_ Dick thought with despair as he forced himself to look up at the man's handsome face. '_You could have been someone I could trust. You could have been somebody who would say these things and I would be able to believe you. You could have been like family to me. You could have been so much…'_

He blinked in surprise when he felt tears form in his eyes and lowered his head again, hoping that Bruce wouldn't notice. His hands were shaking under the covers.

'_We could have been father and son. Yet instead all we have is this sick, ugly thing, a dirty secret. I hate you, with every fibre.'_

"It's not such a big deal," Dick stated once he felt confident enough to talk. He tried to pull himself together and slowly remembered his original purpose for mentioning the debate. "I just really felt involved with the topic."

"Oh, really? What was it?" Bruce asked smoothly, changing his position to face the fourteen year old more comfortably. He looked like he was humoring the boy, pleasant and patronizing, and totally fake. However, his expression changed after Dick's one word reply.

"Batman."

Bruce's face immediately hardened. The tables turned, and as the boy saw his guardian lean back defensively, as if in disinterest, Dick leaned forward.

"It was the first time I actually participated. I was a bit nervous in the beginning, I guess. I was in favour of Batman, of course," he added nonchalantly, carefully watching his guardian's face. But it was no use. Bruce had already put on his expressionless mask, and from Dick's experience, once that happened nothing could make it otherwise.

Dick nearly collapsed with relief when the man suddenly stood up from the bed. Tension eased out of him and his shoulders relaxed once there was distance between them again. Bruce walked idly away, across the room towards the massive television.

"I see that you didn't open any of the games I bought for you," he said.

Another abrupt subject change, and the danger passed. Bruce was back in control. He picked up the videogame that Dick had been looking at earlier. The bright blue game cover looked very out of place in his pale hands, the only visible part of him unshielded by his dark suit and hair.

The cellophane flashed as it caught the moon.

"I don't have much time for games," Dick answered quickly, but it was as if Bruce didn't hear his reply at all.

"Don't you like these? Perhaps you would like something different?"

"I don't want anything," he replied. '_From you,'_ he added bitterly in his head. But still, Bruce seemed determined to ignore him, looking at the generic shooting game with a strange, absentminded expression. Dick wondered, like so many times in the past, what the man was thinking about. After a while, Bruce spoke again.

"Everybody wants something, Dick. The question is whether or not they can get it." His tone was low and serious and Dick knew that this was the business side of Bruce talking, rational and heartless.

He put the video game back in its original place. "And you know I can get you anything."

Dick could laugh at the irony but he felt angry instead, a hot, bitter anger making him clench his bed covers and turn his knuckles white. _'Are you trying to bribe me to keep my mouth shut about you? Reward me? Or do you know that what you've done is sick, and you're trying to make it better? Videogames and fancy watches and clothes don't mean shit, you bastard.'_

But this angry trail of thought was stopped by a rather recent memory, and Dick blinked in realization, suddenly knowing how to use his guardian's strange mood to his advantage. Leaving the comfort of his bed, still warm with his body-heat, Dick carefully made his way towards Bruce, who turned around to face him with a rather surprised expression. The silence in the room was almost deafening.

"There is actually this one thing," he started, not sure about the man's reaction to his unexpected request. Bruce was watching him intensely and there was a sudden keen, yet cold light in his eyes. The fourteen year old swallowed nervously and pushed on.

"Well, there's this boy in the debate club who's the captain of the gymnastics team at the Academy. And he asked me to join, because he saw the, er, article and thought that I might enjoy it since I used to… do that kind of…. stuff." At this point he was starting to regret ever mentioning Richard's offer to Bruce, but it was too late to let it go now. Bruce already looked too intrigued and he took a single step forward, his shirt almost touching Dick. Forcing himself to stay still while every cell in his body fought, Dick took a deep breath and looked his tormentor straight in the eye as he said;

"I want to join the gymnastics club."

There was only silence.

'_He's not going to let me join,'_ the boy thought immediately. _'He's not going to let me join for one specific reason, and that is the fact that he was not the one who chose it for me. He wants control, and this doesn't give it to him. He's going to say no.'_

Yet even as he mentally prepared himself for his guardian's refusal, Dick knew that nothing would change the fact that he wanted to join the team. Very much so. So when his guardian's eyes bored down into his own, testing him, waiting for the boy to break, he didn't. He met his eyes and stood for examination. He was willing to do what it took for this one little thing, a couple of hours a week, a taste of his old life, a friend, and he let Bruce see that.

The man smiled. He raised his hand to Dick's face, and Dick didn't flinch. He let it travel from his cheek, to his chin, neck, collarbone and down to the open part of his crumpled uniform shirt, his eyes still holding resolutely onto the crystal blue irises that masked the power to decide his future. No, he simply stood still and watched as Bruce's eyes slid from his eyes, to his lips, to his skin. He didn't move even when the strong hand grasped at the opened collar of his shirt.

"I think it's a good idea. I'll arrange everything with your teachers on Monday."

Bruce spoke at last, his voice as steady and neutral as ever, and Dick felt his heart flutter with happiness. He remembered his silly daydreams earlier that day and wondered if they could ever come true. He wondered if the club was going to be his ticket out of a cold reality, at least for a few hours a week. He wondered if Richard would be what he wanted him to be. He wondered if what he was doing right now was soaking into his soul.

'_I don't know if this is right or even if its going to work. But I'm willing to give it a try,'_ Dick thought to himself as his eyes remained on the taller man's face, dark with shadows and mixed emotions.

'_Because it's worth it. Even if the price is high.'_


	12. The Boy Uninvited

Chapter 12

The next morning, Dick lay in bed for a long time, thinking about what he'd done. Something inside him had broken, died. He wasn't fighting anymore and he couldn't justify it to himself. He didn't have a reason. Joining the gymnastics club… It didn't seem enough with the sun burning his curtains and birds singing outside. Good people didn't do what he had done, good people fought. _Batman _would have fought. _He_ would never have submitted in order to get what he wanted.

But the funny thing was, he didn't even feel that guilty. He had what he wanted. And he'd gone through it so many times against his will, what difference did it make? At least this time, he'd escaped earning any unnecessary bruises or pains. It was just one more incident in a long line; in the grand scale of things, it probably wouldn't even be counted. And it wasn't like anyone was watching him, nobody knew what was going on, so they couldn't judge him.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? It was wrong that he didn't feel bad. He shouldn't be making these excuses, and justifying it to himself. What had happened was wrong, it was always wrong, no matter how many times, and he'd let it happen. Didn't that make him wrong too? Didn't that mean he was bad now too? How could he be good anymore? He hadn't been innocent in a long time, but that hadn't been his fault until now.

Now he shared the blame.

If you know someone is going to do a bad thing, something that is wrong, and you don't try to stop them, if you let it happen, doesn't that make you like them? Maybe even worse, since something is driving them to do what they did, but you're just lazy, scared. You don't have the integrity to stop them. That's why Gotham needs Batman, because most people aren't heroes.

Dick wanted to be. He wanted to be a hero, and have people look up to him, but that couldn't happen now. He'd sold it for the gymnastics club. His heart twisted.

He didn't want to get out of bed. What was there for him in another day? They were all the same, except when one managed to be worse somehow. But if he stayed in bed, he could pretend that the day hadn't started yet, would never start. He could stay, safe and alone, and he wouldn't have to face his decisions. He just lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

But then his eyes drifted over to where he and his guardian had stood last night. He wasn't safe here though, was he? Bruce had finally violated that one little part of him that was his, that stupid, childish belief that evil could be contained within four walls. He couldn't pretend now that he would have a warning when bad things were about to happen, that he could have his own life without Bruce intruding. Bruce could be anywhere, he had control of everything. He could come into Dick's room in the middle of the night and take what he wanted and go away again. That was how it was. There was no such thing as 'Dick' anymore, just an aspect of Bruce Wayne's existence. The time he spent at school, and by himself in the mansion, that was just killing time until Bruce used him.

Once again, he felt the incredible weight of Wayne Manor pressing down on him. The money, the influence, the domination of the man himself; they created a cage which he could never escape, a collar made of stone that made it hard to move.

He just wanted to stay in bed, and hoped no one ever found him.

There was a knock at the door. He recognised the knock, clear but not intruding, probably learned in some prestigious butler school in England. Alfred didn't wait to be invited in, opening the door as the boy turned his head to look.

"Time to get out of bed, Master Dick," said the butler in his crisp accent. The door stood open wide behind him, dispelling the feeling of safety like a smell, as if all it took to strip Dick of his security was a little airing. There was no point in staying in bed now.

Dick had to hand it to the man, he was a genius in subtly getting his orders obeyed. He wondered if Bruce had been raised with the same techniques.

He sat up, not even bothering to sigh, and he felt all his bad feelings settle into his gut as gravity's grip on him shifted. The butler strode briskly forward, picking up his scattered school uniform and slinging it over his arm. The boy watched him do it, wondering if he understood the significance, or if he just thought Dick was an average messy teen. Alfred dumped it all into a wicker laundry basket, which he then picked up to take with him.

"Breakfast is in twenty minutes," informed the butler.

"Alfred, it's Saturday," Dick complained, thinking he might be able to get the old man to see reason for once.

But he just tipped his nose in the air though and looked down it at Dick. "The sun bothered to get up today, so can you," he said, tolerating no argument, and swept out of the room, leaving the door open so Dick couldn't just lie back down and ignore him.

Looking down at his hands on the covers, Dick wondered if he could get away with claiming to be sick, but he doubted it. He just had to get up. Why did he keep thinking he had choice in his life, when he obviously didn't? These people were determined to keep grinding away at him until he was nothing but dust.

He dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the 'normal teenager' act tarnished by the designer labels. The jeans were still stiff from lack of use, the cuffs perfect.

He didn't expect to see Bruce at the table, and he wasn't disappointed. He pulled out his usual chair at the large oak table and tried to ignore the cheery sunlight in the room. Moments later, Alfred placed a rack of toast and a tea pot in front of him. Dick just watched as his breakfast selection was spread out around him, neither of the two feeling like talking.

He caught sight of a newspaper on the chair next to him, having obviously been missed by the neurotically tidy butler, and reached for it. Once Alfred was no longer at his shoulder, he opened it up, feeding himself a slice of toast as he read.

The front page was just another shock-horror article on some foreign war, so Dick turned the pages idly. Bruce's name was mentioned several times, with his company's latest product, latest charitable donation, and the latest protest against Wayne Enterprises' responsibility for a large loss of jobs all being discussed in varying degrees of depth. The Society pages also covered the event they had attended on Thursday night, with half a page dedicated to the story. Right in the middle was a picture of him and Bruce taken on the night, with his guardian looking flawlessly cool and charming, while he looked tense and alarmed. He tried to read the article, but he couldn't get past the first few lines before he felt physically sick, so he moved on.

He reached the sports pages and started again from the beginning, lowering his standards now that he'd established that nothing earth-shattering had happened recently. A few pages in, a small piece at the bottom of the page caught his eye.

_**Gotham Gossip Investigated by IRS**_

_The Gotham tabloid magazine 'Gotham Gossip' is being investigated by the Internal Revenue Service, following suspicions of tax evasion and fraud. Pending a ruling on the case, publication of the magazine has been halted, and files have been seized from its head office on Wayne Plaza. The owner of the magazine has stated that the allegations are unfounded and untrue, but it will be difficult for the business to recover at the end of what is looking to be a lengthy and intrusive investigation._

Dick put the paper down and turned to his plate. No way. It couldn't be, could it? Bruce couldn't have gone that far.

He looked at the food in front of him and began selecting things to eat, pouring himself a cup of tea and spreading butter and jam on a slice of toast. It couldn't be denied that Bruce had the _power _to sick the IRS on the tabloid, and he was vindictive enough, Dick knew, but would he really do it? Did last Wednesday's article exposing his identity really tick the billionaire off that badly? The orphan thought back to his guardian's reaction. Yes, it had.

He read the article again. He felt pity for the people at _Gotham Gossip_. They'd just been doing their jobs, and Bruce Wayne was in the papers all the time, they'd probably thought nothing of it. They would never have guessed that they'd brought down their own destruction. And it was so clever of Bruce. His name never came up, it probably didn't exist in any official reports. He could never be suspected of being behind it. It was conniving, underhanded and ruthless, just like Dick had learned his guardian was.

But all he had was suspicion. It was probably all he'd ever have. It could be a coincidence, maybe the magazine really was lying about their taxes. He'd never know for sure, and no one would ever hear from _Gotham Gossip _ever again.

He was still thinking about it when Alfred came back to clear the table, which gave him an idea.

"Alfred, do you know if there are any newspapers from the past few days lying around?" he asked.

"They would hardly be 'lying around', Master Dick," replied the butler, seemingly offended that the boy would think so little of his work ethic.

Dick felt like rolling his eyes but he knew better. The old man's entire life was devoted to the Wayne family and their manor, keeping things clean on the surface, so no one thought to look underneath.

"You know what I mean," he said. "Are there any?"

The butler gave him a suspicious look, but assented in the end. "I think I may have kept one for the puzzles, yes," he said warily.

"Do you mind if I have a look at it?" Dick asked, trying to sound amenable.

"Certainly, Master Dick. I'll fetch it right away," said the old man stiffly, disappearing out of the room. Dick sat back in his chair. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. He wanted to play detective and find out the truth, because he wanted to know the real extent of the damage he'd done, of the hurt he'd caused innocent strangers, just by being in the object of a powerful man's obsession. His guilt was the main reason, but besides that, in a darker part of himself, he wanted to know something about his guardian that the man didn't want him to know - he wanted to take back a part of the power that he'd lost.

He heard the door click as the old man returned a minute later.

"Here you are," he said, proffering a neatly folded newspaper almost identical to the one Dick had just been looking at.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll give it back to you," he said, taking the paper and leaving the table, retreating to his room.

He spread the newspaper out on his bare desk, sitting before it, determined to find what he was looking for. It wouldn't be on the front page, Bruce wouldn't be that obvious. Turning to the second page, he began analysing headlines. Eventually, he came to the one he was looking for, hidden in the middle of the paper.

_**News Ninja Unmasked**_

_The notorious photographer of successful tabloid 'Gotham Gossip' has had his identity leaked to the press by an anonymous source. The man, whose name has been revealed to be Howard Jackson (34), had kept his identity a secret in order to avoid any possible consequences of his work. Renowned for taking scandalous pictures of the rich and famous, which often resulted in ruined personal lives or careers, he was nevertheless a hero to many paparazzi. Earning the nickname of the 'News Ninja' early in his career, his employers say of him; "He could always be counted on to deliver the impossible shot, the million-dollar mistake."_

_Since the leak, Jackson faces multiple lawsuits from angry celebrities._

Dick leaned back in his chair, listening to it creak faintly.

There it was. One of these events on its own would have been suspicious, but both together, within days of each other, could not be coincidence. Bruce had taken revenge on the magazine and the photographer that had invaded his privacy and unveiled Dick's presence in the Manor. He didn't know how he had done it, but Dick had learned by now that there was _nothing _Bruce couldn't do. Nothing was out of reach for the Playboy Prince of Gotham. He was everywhere and in everything. He could build the city up or tear it down as he desired. It was a terrifying thought.

And nobody even knew. Nobody but him and Alfred understood just what the man was capable of. To the world at large, Bruce Wayne was a spoiled airhead with too much money and no experience of the real world. And Bruce cultivated that opinion, he played up to it, exaggerated it; it was the perfect cover.

Dick shook his head. Was he really surprised? Did he expect Bruce to show compassion? He reminded himself that this wasn't the worst thing his guardian had done - _that _had been saved for him.

The boy gathered up the newspaper and went to return it to Alfred, finding the man in the kitchen, still cleaning up the breakfast things.

"Here's your paper back, Alfred," he said, putting it on the counter next to where the butler was working.

"Thank you, Master Dick," he replied congenially, always with such impenetrable manners. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Maybe it was something in the tone, or in the way he looked, or didn't look, at him, but paranoia spiked in Dick, and he felt that he needed to lie to protect himself from whatever the butler was thinking. It was likely that the old man knew what Bruce had done, but it was impossible that he suspected what Dick had been doing, wasn't it? He would have to have memorised both newspapers for that, and if he did, why supply the second one to confirm Dick's theory? But something was telling him it wasn't safe.

"I wasn't really looking for anything," Dick said, turning and picking an apple from the fruit bowl as something to do to give him an excuse not to look at the butler. "I'm just supposed to be up to date on current events for school."

And his parents had always said he was a terrible liar. Guess he never really learned until he came to Wayne Manor.

But Alfred nodded and dropped the subject. "Master Bruce will be entertaining tonight," he told Dick as he left. _So stay out of sight_, was implicit. Dick waved over his shoulder with a mouth full of apple, pushing through the swing doors.

It was an interesting dynamic, his relationship with Alfred. The man was a clear threat to him, sided with Bruce and therefore _against _him, and he always gave off the faint sense that he didn't appreciate Dick's presence, that he'd prefer it if it was just him and Bruce, like the good old days. He was an antagonist, but he was the only one Dick could act anything like himself around. He could mildly disrespect the butler, because he wasn't allowed to do anything about it. As long as he kept it subtle, nothing worth reporting to Bruce, Dick had a little weight to throw around in the house. On the other hand, whatever Alfred said, went. Dick would never be foolish enough to actually disobey him. Even the butler carried a mildly threatening air.

So Bruce was going to have another party, was he? That would mean Dick would be confined to his room through the unspoken rule of the house. But that wasn't any different from normal, he would probably have stayed in there all day anyway. He headed back up to his room now, hoping he had enough homework to last the weekend.

---

Dick was just about to go to bed, hoping he'd be asleep by the time Bruce's party started, when a burst of drunken giggling erupted from downstairs, signalling their arrival, his guardian's low smooth voice just discernible. They must have just returned from some party or club somewhere.

Dick was going to go to bed anyway, when he heard a woman's voice say loudly, "Where's that boy, Bruce? You know, the one you're looking after?"

"Oh, he's probably upstairs somewhere, you know teenagers," Bruce said, brushing her off easily without her even realising it. Obviously the women wouldn't be interested in Dick when they had the handsome billionaire with them.

"Oh I know, my Richard's just the same, always sulking about one thing or another. It's like living with my father again!" Dick couldn't tell if it was the same woman replying, or whether a new one had joined in, but her face appeared in his mind as he heard her voice. It was Richard's mother, the woman he had met at the event he had been dragged to last Thursday. That was odd; Dick would have thought she was a bit too old to be a member of Bruce's special party.

He also felt an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He knew why Bruce invited these woman over, of course he did. He knew how these parties inevitably ended. Normally he didn't care, the women were just faceless dolls. But he knew Mrs Rawn. He knew her son, and how much it would hurt him to know she was here. He scowled - didn't Bruce have _any _limits?

The voices faded as they left the hall and moved to the Midnight Room, shutting the door. Dick could have slept now if he'd wanted to, but he didn't feel like it anymore, he was too uneasy. He knew it wasn't his responsibility, but he felt he couldn't just leave Richard's mother to her fate, not if he was hoping to make her son his first real friend. He needed to at least know how it ended, since he knew there was no way in Hell that he'd get away with intervening. Bruce would skin him alive.

He changed back out of his pyjamas, still unsure what he was going to do. At least he knew that as long as they stayed in the Midnight Room, Mrs Rawn was fairly safe. It was the thought of when Bruce would lead one or more of them upstairs that made Dick worry. But it sounded like he'd brought quite a large group back with him that night, and he didn't think even Bruce would invite four women to spend the night. For the time being, he would just listen.

In the space of the next two hours, Dick just sat on his bed with his door ajar, flicking through a film magazine, his ears perking up at every new burst of laughter as the adults downstairs got increasingly drunk. He kept telling himself he was being stupid, that there was nothing he could do and he shouldn't even try, that it was none of his business.

Eventually however, the voices got abruptly louder as the door to the Midnight Room was opened. Dick heard giggling, and guessed that the time had come for Bruce and his guests to 'retire'.

"Alfred, see that Mrs Rawn gets home, will you?" Bruce said carelessly, stretching Dick's nerves. What was wrong with her? Was she not going to be one of Bruce's girls that night? Dick waited until the man and his entourage had climbed the stairs and gone past his room, before quietly slipping out to investigate.

Downstairs, Alfred wasn't around, presumably having gone off to carry out his master's orders. Dick snuck into the Midnight Room, closing the door behind him. The table was loaded with bottles and glasses and, looking around, he saw Richard's mother lying on her back along one of the couches, her arm over her face.

She didn't look well. Her skin was pale and clammy, her blonde hair flat and her dress was riding up and creased. It was obvious that she'd drunk too much. Dick wondered if she was even conscious. He moved closer.

"Are you alright, Mrs Rawn?" he asked nervously, trying not to disturb her if she was asleep.

The woman looked up at the sound of his voice, raising her arm away from her eyes to look at him.

"There you are," she murmured. "Don't worry about me, I - I've been drunk before. I can hold my liquor, won't ruin the uphol… sofa," she garbled rather dejectedly. Dick knelt down beside the couch.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" he asked.

She laughed bitterly. "Kid like you? Shouldn't be looking after a grown up woman like me," she said. "Though, you could go get my son and call my purse. I'd rather not, I'd rather not… I'd rather not be tossed out on my ass… by the butler … garbage."

Dick didn't say anything, just reached for the woman's bag which was lying forgotten on the floor. He snapped it open to look for her phone, feeling uncomfortable. It was stupid, but he'd never looked through a woman's handbag before, and he wasn't sure what he would find. The bag was so small though that it could only hold a few things, an expensive mobile being fairly prominent. It had a touch screen, and lit up as he picked it out, putting the bag down carefully by his knee. He began figuring out how to access her phone book and find Richard's number.

Mrs Rawn laughed again. "He's not going to like this," she said. "I always disappoint him…"

Deciding she must have been talking about her son, Dick tried to think of something to say in reply, but he it felt too personal for him to get involved.

"Those other women just made me feel so _old_," she said suddenly, quite loudly, as if answering a question Dick hadn't asked. She sighed, laying her arm back over her eyes. "I never thought it would happen to _me_, you know, Dicky?"

The woman was obviously very unhappy in her life, drinking so much and participating in Bruce's little private parties, but Dick didn't know what to say to make her feel better. He was out of his depths with her, and he didn't think he could make a difference anyway. Why would she listen to a kid like him, who she'd only met once before? And besides, Bruce wouldn't like the idea of his ward interacting with his social circle.

He'd found Richard's number, but was holding back from calling him. It felt impolite to do it right in front of his drunk mother, and what would he say anyway? He hardly knew him well enough to call him and tell him his mother was at Bruce Wayne's house and was so drunk that she needed to be picked up so late at night.

It was then that the door opened again, and Alfred entered carrying a tray with a glass of water, some pills, and a plate of artfully arranged crackers. He stopped short when he saw Dick kneeling by the woman.

"Sh-She wanted me to call her son," Dick stuttered, hoping it would be enough to explain his presence there, well aware that it didn't.

Alfred's expression changed to subtly display his displeasure, but not to a degree that it would count as disrespecting his employers. He crossed the room and laid the tray on the table beside the couch.

Then he turned to Dick and held out his hand. "Very well then," he said stonily, demanding the phone. Dick gave it up, and the butler went back to virtually ignoring him, speaking instead to Richard's mother with a polite smile.

"Mrs Rawn, would you care for some water?" he asked congenially.

She groaned, "I think I've drunk enough for one night, don't you?" she said, before glancing out from under her arm. "But pills look good."

"Of course, Madame," Alfred replied, transferring the pills to her open hand, and she smacked them into her mouth. "And perhaps some crackers? You really should eat something as well," the butler continued, but the woman waved her hand to dismiss him.

He nodded, and after shooting Dick a warning glance, left the room to phone Richard. There was silence for a moment, and Dick wondered if he should leave, but then the woman started speaking again.

"You're a good kid, Dick." she said. "Son's mentioned you… I think. Nothing like Bruce. I hope you stay that way. S'not a good life, take it from me. The money might look good from the outside, but on the _inside_…" she trailed off, and Dick thought he didn't need her to tell him, he already knew what went on behind the money. "My son needs a friend like you, someone from the real world. You'll be good for him."

Dick hoped Richard would be good for him too.

Alfred came back in. "Your son is coming for you, Mrs Rawn," he said, completely non-judgementally, the way a good butler would. He tried to give her phone back to her, but she didn't notice as her eyes were still closed, so he was left holding it awkwardly. Dick unsnapped her bag and held it out, and the butler reluctantly dropped it inside since there didn't seem to be an alternative.

"I think it's time you were in bed, Master Dick," the old man said pointedly.

"Ah, let the little tyke stay, Alf, he's not doing any harm," objected Mrs Rawn from the couch. "I like having him around," she said, and her hand came down heavily on Dick's head, though her fingers worked through a lock of his hair with surprising gentleness.

Alfred couldn't disagree without seeming rude, so he had no choice but to let Dick stay. However, he was obviously not in favour of leaving the boy alone with the woman, so he hovered awkwardly. Richard's mother, however, seemed oblivious to his presence.

"Remind me of a few years ago, when oldest was your age. Things were different back then. Better. I wasn't like this, and my son didn't hate me. But now Richard will barely spend any time with me, I just embarrass him," she whined. She was clearly not a happy drunk.

"I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure he doesn't hate you," Dick comforted her awkwardly. He had no experience in helping people feel better, especially not with everything that was wrong in his own life. He hardly knew this woman, and it felt wrong to know so much about one of his schoolmates' personal lives, and it didn't help that Alfred was listening for anything he said that was out of place.

The woman smiled. "It's nice of you to say that, but… I'm pretty sure I blown it. And I can't blame him…" She trailed off and Dick thought she'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't be surprising considering how drunk she was. He shifted his position to something more comfortable, his legs bent in front of him and his back leaning on the table. He didn't know why he felt the need to watch over this woman - it was ridiculous really, given how much older than him she was. She just seemed like a good person, in the wrong situation. That air of goodness was something she shared with her son. Dick tilted his head, examining the woman's face and comparing it to the boy he knew. They really did look a lot alike, the same blonde hair, the same fine features and pale skin. Maybe that was all it was, her angelic good looks. She'd probably had people trying to protect her her whole life. Didn't look like any of them had succeeded.

Dick sat in silence, watching the woman who was lying statue-still, only her stomach rising and falling slightly as she breathed. Alfred stayed standing, invisible behind him. Time passed, until the door bell rang through the house, signalling Richard's arrival and sending Alfred off to answer it. Dick was suddenly nervous, maybe he _should _go upstairs, and not let the older boy know that'd he'd been privy to his mother's alcohol-induced stupor.

But then Alfred came back and leaned over the woman on the couch. "Mrs Rawn, your son is here to take you home," he said gently, though with a flintiness that gave away how little he cared for having the drunk woman in the house. He was eager to see her gone.

The woman moaned and moved slightly, her arm lifting from her face as if she was trying to push something away. "Hmm, what? Oh, Richard's here already?" It was taking her a moment to get her bearings. "Okay, help me up," she said, clearly talking to Dick, rolling off the couch and almost on to him, as he rushed to catch her with her arm around his shoulder. He could smell the alcohol as he supported her back and side as best he could. The woman was quite a bit taller than him.

She swayed and clapped her hand to her mouth, but then took it away again and said, "No, no, I'm fine."

He helped her navigate the coffee table and get her into the hall, where Richard was standing. Dick glanced at him then looked away, not quite brave enough to meet his eye. Richard's expression did not improve upon seeing Dick propping his mother up. He was angry before at having to come and get her, but now he looked ashamed as well, and even more angry at his mother for making him feel that way.

Dick noticed that Richard was soaking wet, and he glanced out of the windows to notice the heavy rain for the first time. His pale blue shirt was soaked through and sticking to him, and he wasn't wearing a jacket. His blonde hair was made darker by the rain, and drips were running from wet locks onto his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He didn't look like he did at school; he looked a lot less happy. It made Dick really feel the age difference between them. Richard was almost an adult, almost free and independent, whereas Dick was still trapped.

The older boy rushed forward to take his mother off Dick, awkwardly saying, "Here, let me…" He trailed off, unsure.

"I'm sorry, Richard," his mother murmured as her head rolled onto his shoulder. Her son just pulled a face as he looked at her, then looked away without replying.

"I'm sorry about this," the boy told Alfred, who nodded and replied politely.

"Not at all," he said.

Richard turned to Dick, looking at him properly so that the younger boy couldn't look away. "I'm sorry about her," he repeated.

"No, it's okay," Dick replied awkwardly, finding himself following the older boy and his mother to the door as Alfred held it open, the rain coming down noisily on the other side. Dick saw what was presumably Richard's car on the other side, surprised that it wasn't a Rolls or a Bentley or something like that, with a chauffeur, like most of the kids at school had. Richard had clearly driven himself, and it must have been his own car because it wasn't fancy enough to belong to his father.

A card fell out of Richard's shirt pocket as he readjusted his mother's weight and Dick quickly swooped down to pick it up, feeling compelled to be helpful by the uncomfortable situation. He saw that it was some kind of security pass, with a barcode and Richard's picture on it, but he didn't see any more detail than that as the older boy hastily took it off him and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"Thanks," he said, looking down, and Dick had the impression that he had managed to see something else that Richard hadn't wanted him to. "I'll see you at school," he said, turning into the rain, his mother making a whine of displeasure as the water hit her.

"Um, wait a second," Dick called. Richard turned to look at him curiously.

"Bruce says I can join the team, if you still want," he told him.

Briefly, they blonde's face lit up. "Really? That's great. We'll have to have tryouts for you some time. I'll set something up and tell you about it on Monday, okay?" He was clearly anxious to get going, edging backwards towards his car. Dick couldn't blame him, given the situation, and if Dick had a way out of Wayne Manor, he would take it without a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Dick replied, growing cold as the boy sat his mother in the car and drove away, leaving him behind with the butler in the open door.

Dick turned to go inside, not missing the look the butler gave him.


	13. The Boy's Friend

**Chapter 12: The Boy's Friend**

"-The forms have been sent to your parents already, just remind them that we _only_ take Paypal, no cash, alright? Also, the payment _has_ to be in by the end of this week at the_ latest_ so make sure it's in on time. This is very im-"

Dick hardly registered anything the male teacher was saying as he blankly stared at his opened textbook, one of his hands tapping his knee in impatience. '_How much longer?'_ he thought nervously _'Is this lesson seriously going to last forever?'_

"Alright, now that everything is resolved, we can return to our original topic - perfect competition. Looking at the graphs on page twelve…"

However, the question here was _Did he want it to last forever_? Confronting Richard after the weekend's fiasco certainly seemed awkward enough, but at the same time it gave him a chance to talk and do something that he saw friends do all the time; eat together. Dick nervously wondered how the meeting would go. Would they buy sandwiches or go somewhere outside the school grounds?

Even though he had a credit card with a large sum of money on it (Bruce never gave him cash, he probably monitored all of his spending through the bank statements) he never really used it until his guardian brought it up and gave him a stern speech about bad eating habits. Dick couldn't help himself, he hardly ever had any proper appetite since he'd started living in Wayne Manor, but to avoid problems every lunch break he went to the cheapest café and got himself a sandwich. He was used to sitting at the furthest table, away from the rest of the customers (thankfully, none of the other boys ever visited the place, it was probably too cheap by their standards) and eating his food in silence, either reading a schoolbook or staring blankly at the plastic table.

Dick wondered where Richard usually ate. It was probably with a large group of boys in some fancy foreign restaurant that tolerated their shouting and loud voices only because of the profit. He wondered if Richard would bring somebody from his group along to make it less awkward. He didn't really want that to happen….

"Would that be liability or an asset? Mr Stiller?"

"Ehh,… a… liability, Sir?"

"And why?"

'_No, he wouldn't do that,' _Dick thought with more confidence and looked at his textbook blankly, not really registering the text or graphs in front of him. '_But he didn't say where we are supposed to meet. Should I look for him myself? Richard's certainly popular enough for people to know where he was if I asked, but that would be really sad…'_

"That's all for today. Pick up your tests on your way out and make sure your parents sign them on the back… Oh! And don't forget about the trip!"

"…Tests?" Dick mumbled softly and raised his head with an expression of dread. _'What tests? Does he mean that thing from last week? But, but that wasn't supposed to be graded, I made sure!_'

Quickly packing his books into the expensive leather school-bag, which was ridiculously pricey even by the Academy's standards, Dick made his way to the front of the class as it got steadily emptier and emptier. looked at him with a puzzled expression. Dick opened his mouth to speak.

"Excuse me, Mr. Collins, but that test… I thought it didn't count towards the final mark."

"Oh, it doesn't," the middle aged man answered warily and it almost looked like he was afraid of displeasing Dick as he sat up straighter in his chair. The boy didn't let that faze him."The actual mark doesn't matter. We just need your parent's - guardian_'_s signature, to make sure he's informed on your progress." He shifted his eyes away uncomfortably as Dick continued to look down at him in disbelief. Both of them had been painfully aware of the man's correction of _parent_ to _guardian_, and that the teacher knew he was talking about _the_ Bruce Wayne.

At this point they were the only people in the class and Dick mercifully turned his gaze away to the last of the papers that was left, bearing his name in scratchy handwriting - DICK GRAYSON. The red numbers next to it said 42 percent. His lowest score yet. And he was supposed to bring it to Bruce. That couldn't be.

"I see. Thank you, Sir."

Clutching the paper in his hand, Dick made his way out of the classroom with a feeling akin to hysteria. This was bad. This was really bad. How was he ever going to explain this to Bruce? _Forty-two percent_? His guardian would be very displeased and there was nothing he could do that-

-that…

'_But that's not true, is it?'_ his mind answered in a smug tone and Dick felt himself go cold as his mind went back to that night with Bruce leaning over his bed in the shadows. '_If_ _Bruce gets angry… I know how to change that_..._'_

No.

'_I've done it before, what difference does it make? If I go to him willingly again, I'm sure he would let it slide. In fact, if I play my cards right, I won't have to go to this boring school ever again, just stay in the manor forever, having everything I could ever ask for, and-'_

"Hey,"

The boy stopped abruptly and looked up.

Richard's friendly face made his mind instantly go blank and for a first time that day, Dick felt his spirits rise. Slowly making his way towards the blonde boy leaning against one of the walls, he asked,

"How did you find my classroom?"

Smiling from ear to ear, Richard put his hands in his pockets with a mischievous glint in his eyes and shrugged.

"I know a guy who knows a guy."

Richard looked at him carefully for a moment but didn't say anything, and Dick thought that if he wanted to pretend the incident with his mum never happened then he was only too happy to play along. Relieved at the light mood the older boy had started their conversation with, Dick could only nod when Richard stated

"So, let's eat!"

The economics test paper lay unsigned inside his school bag. He didn't feel like it was such a huge deal anymore. He would worry about it later.

They ended up eating at Dick's usual place. The surroundings were familiar, boring even, but somehow Richard's presence made the whole café look exciting and adventurous. Dick wondered if this happened when you brought somebody along to eat with you. It was… nice. He caught himself smiling at Richard's stories several times and surprised himself by eating more than his usual half of a sandwich. It was almost like he was in a completely different world and Richard was the gatekeeper that let him through.

The taller boy looked nothing like the wet figure he saw at Wayne Manor last weekend. Richard looked younger somehow, fresher, and he was his usual cheerful self that attracted people like bees towards honey. Dick realized he was no longer jealous of that fact when the boy's attention was on him. To the other customers in the café, the two of them probably looked like the best of friends. The thought excited him for some reason.

"Wanna try it? It has… a unique flavour, that's all I have to say." Richard played with the straw in his milkshake (he had asked for an extra swirly one earlier) and raised his head at Dick, one of the blonde bangs sticking out at a strange angle. Dick looked at the milkshake with a raised eyebrow but Richard was already pushing it towards him. It suddenly occurred to him that he would have to drink using the same straw and when was the last time he shared a drink with anybody? Probably his parents, he could remember they used to do it often, passing a water bottle to each other after training, each one making sure that there was always some left for the others. Feeling inexplicably nostalgic, Dick put the straw into his mouth and sucked. Richard was right. The milkshake was strange.

"Nah, keep it, I don't want it." Richard waved his hand when Dick started to push the cup back to him. He had one of those sport wristbands on, black and yellow and it made the gesture cool and somehow very high school-ish. In fact, when Dick looked properly at what the other boy was wearing he couldn't help but compare it to his own uniform; whereas Dick's tie was fastened tightly, Richard didn't have one at all and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong looking forearms, wristband on one hand, a sport watch on the other. Suddenly feeling stupid in his proper clothes, he tried to casually loosen up his tie but the action reminded him too much of somebody else's hands fiddling with his clothes and he stopped immediately.

Richard looked at him with a strange expression.

"Whoa, Dick, what's that on your neck? Is that a-?"

Immediately feeling alarmed, Dick brought his hands to his throat. Was there a bruise? Did Richard see it? _Shit, think of an excuse quick, anything-_

But Richard dropped the subject, looking almost embarrassed if not a little annoyed, and he changed the topic after a few awkward seconds, his expression clearing almost instantly. Dick found his ability to cheer up so quickly almost disturbing. His mind went towards the weekend again and how sombre Richard looked back then.

"- So that's how we recruited Danny into our team. And a damn good thing that was since that kid is insane! He won half of the school's prizes for the senior championship. The rest of course belong to my humble self," Richard finished and leaned back against his chair, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. "Think you can top all that, circus boy?" he grinned with challenge.

It was strange how the term 'circus boy' sounded different, almost affectionate when it came from Richard as opposed to all the other students and the press. When Richard said it, it sounded like something to be proud of and it reminded him of the days when he used to brag about his exciting life to anyone who was willing to listen.

"Yeah, I do." Dick grinned back. Richard's expression mirrored his own.

"Hey, what's your next lesson by the way?" the blond boy asked and reached for the milkshake on Dick's side of the table. He started drinking it as he watched the other boy with attentive eyes.

"…Politics." When the questioning silence persisted, he added "With Mr. Foxworth."

"Foxworth? Oh, yeah. He taught me two years ago. He's a nice guy even if he, well…"

"Even if he randomly throws his pencils at people who fall asleep?" Dick finished, and the older boy's eyes twinkled from behind the milkshake.

"He still does that?" Richard asked with a short chuckle and the milkshake was casually passed back to the black haired boy across from him. When Dick nodded, the blonde drew closer and whispered in a low voice, his bangs falling across one of his eyes. "Don't tell anyone, but I got hit once during my Advanced Pol. class. That guy can _throw_! I had a bruise on my head for a whole week!"

"I generally try to pay attention," Dick responded with a small smile, but frowned inwardly, knowing full well that the teacher was too scared of Bruce to even throw a sharp glance anywhere near him. He grabbed the milkshake with a thoughtful expression and took a sip to distract himself. He didn't really want any more; he wasn't thirsty and it did have a weird flavour, but he hadn't shared anything with anyone so casually in so long that he'd forgotten how it felt, and he didn't want to waste the opportunity now.

"Well, I had a morning practice that day and let me tell you, when Coach is in a bad mood, you can _feel _it. That guy can be really harsh sometimes. But I like it that way, it keeps the team motivated and it's fun, you know? Ahh!" Richard brought both his hands behind his back and sighed with pleasure. "Can't wait to see you in action! I saw some videos on Youtube and I have to tell you, your solo acts are amazing!"

"...Really?" Dick asked slowly, unwanted memories creeping into his mind one by one. His excitement at performing solo twice in a row that night and his father's proud face as he ruffled his hair… His parents performing their amazing doubles routine without him and that sudden feeling that something was wrong… Time stopping, everything in slow motion… Watching his mother's confident smile changing into a grimace of horror as her hand helplessly reached for a bar that was no longer there… The shriek of the audience and a dark shadow disappearing backstage… The panic, the police, the press, the bodies-

"I... I didn't know there was anything on there…" Dick stated after a while, his voice hollow and deliberately flat. Richard raised his eyebrow with suspicion and then quickly leaned forward with an anxious face.

"Oh, wait! That came out wrong! I didn't mean to - I mean, I'm not _stalking you_ on the internet or anything! Ah, man..." The blond blushed with embarrassment and collapsed back onto the chair again, effectively silencing himself with the milkshake from Dick's side of the table. Seeing the schoolboy's hot face half hidden by the his bangs, Dick felt his dark thoughts fade, instead replaced by a light-hearted amusement and he grinned, reaching for the nearly empty milkshake in Richard's hands. He felt _confident _and _mischievous_ and _cheerful_ and God, was it good to be the old Dick Grayson again!

He vaguely wondered if this was what being friends was always like.

"Well, well, well...enjoying your _man-date_, fags?"

Dick eyes widened as a shadow fell across their table and his smile instantly vanished as he recognized the jeering voice. He opened his mouth to speak but it was Richard's voice that broke the tense silence.

"McTravis."

Dick let go of the milkshake and, ignoring the unnaturally hostile expression on Richard's face, he faced the standing boy.

"What do you want?"

McTravis smirked and Dick inwardly sighed. These whole school teenage dramas and intrigues...It was all just so _tiring_**,** not to mention completely out of place. Whenever he faced his bullies in the Allen Bex academy, it was all so childish and even while being actively involved in the whole process, he still felt like an outsider. Name calling and stupid pranks...These people didn't know anything about truly humiliating a human being. Bruce taught him that. '_Among other things.'_

"Well, I don't want to interrupt or anything," the ginger boy stated, although his whole demeanour said otherwise. He took a casual step closer and leaned against their table, roughly grabbing the nearly empty milkshake from Dick's hands. Richard straightened up at this. Dick glared. He couldn't afford to get into a fight with this guy. Not with todays test results.

'_What the hell is he doing here anyhow? This is the first time I've seen any Academy students in this cafe. Did he... follow us here?'_

He hated acting like a coward but it was wiser to avoid conflict with McTravis this time. The last thing he wanted was for Richard to get into trouble because of him.

"I would ask which one of you is the bitch but I think I already know." The ginger boy chuckled at his own joke and dropped the milkshake on the floor. His eyes were focused on Dick's enraged face with an almost sadistic pleasure. The younger boy's face was red with anger and embarrassment.

"Get lost," Dick retorted, poorly restraining his anger and this reaction seemed to amuse McTravis even more. He made a comical angry face, obviously parodying Dick's rage and then turned to Richard who was uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole exchange.

"Following in your brother's footsteps, Rawn? Should have seen that coming, you've always been such a fa-"

The ginger boy stopped in midsentence as Richard abruptly stood up and faced the now nervous-looking McTravis. Now that both of them were standing opposite each other, it was painfully obvious that Richard was almost a head taller than Josh. Dick watched with fascination, curious and somehow impressed.

After a tense face-off, Joshua broke first, his eyes shifting away from Richard's unwillingly. Still glaring at the red-haired boy, Richard scoffed and said "Let's go, Dick."

Dick quickly grabbed his bag and left the table, looking back and forth between the two schoolboys. He wondered if there was going to be a fight and instantly decided that Richard would be able to take McTravis on, with or without his help. He knew how much muscle it took to be any good at gymnastics, and Richard had won prizes.

As they walked away, Dick found his mind wandering back to McTravis' comment. What had he meant by Richard "following in his brother's footsteps"? But then he remembered what Mrs Rawn had told him the first night he met her, at the party – that one of her sons was gay. He remembered how the information had made him wary of Richard for a while. Now though, it looked like his brother's orientation was a bit of a sore spot for Richard. In a place like Alan Bex Academy, it was more than enough ammo for years' worth of antagonising, which was something Dick just couldn't make fit on Richard, the popular and charming senior.

And now that the two of them had been seen alone together... It might not turn into anything, but Dick was already the circus orphan, he didn't want to be the _gay_ circus orphan as well. And McTravis' observation about who was the bitch cut too close to the bone. It might a joke to them, but they had no idea about what he was living, and Dick didn't like that. It had to be a secret, what went on in the dark at Wayne Manor, or he wouldn't even be able to _pretend_ to function.

When Richard turned back to Dick, his smile was looking strained for the first time Dick had seen.

"Sorry about that. If he gives you any trouble, let me know, and I'll take care of it," he said, his voice easy, but his words held a tone of finality that made it clear that Richard did _not_ want to talk about what just happened. Dick guessed he wanted to pretend it never happened, just like the incident with his mother.

"Don't want to make you late for Foxworth. Can't have any injured guys in my team, eh?" he said jovially. "Our next practice is Wednesday after school in the third gym, so just come to that and we'll see what you can do. Hope you can keep up with us," he teased.

He ruffled the boy's hair and Dick blinked in wonder, not used to such sudden changes of mood. The hand on his head was warm and friendly and he had a flashback of Bruce's hand, confusing and patronizing, , motherly and drunk and now Richard...

"Oh, I think I can handle it." Dick responded with a cheeky smile and Richard raised his eyebrows in challenge as they turned the corner walking side by side.

"Ah! You managed to save it?" Richard grabbed the milkshake from Dick's hands, shaking it a little bit to see how much was left. Feeling mischievous, the younger boy stepped forward and swiftly snatched it from Richard's firm grip. The blond blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, _I_ saved it," Dick stated with a smug look, taking the straw into his mouth to emphasise his ownership. Richard gaped.

"Has anyone ever told you you're _fast_, circus boy. That was actually pretty scary."

Shrugging, Dick took a sip from the weird milkshake and continued on his way towards school.

Dick immediately tensed when he felt a hand drape itself around his shoulders. He looked up at the smiling blond and then slowly relaxed. He wondered if this was normal for two friends but then he remember a few groups of boys doing the exact same thing, hands on each other's shoulders and being loud and stupid. Dick realized that perhaps Richard wanted him to return the friendly gesture but with a pang of regret, he realized that he's simply not tall enough to reach the blonde's shoulders. _'Talk about embarrassing.'_

When he was with Richard, everything else got pushed away. He could be happy, pretend he was normal, but he still knew everything else was still there. The school and it's endless tests in subjects he barely understood, Bruce and Alfred and the shadow of Wayne Manor, stretching out over the whole city to control his entire life... They were all still there, just waiting, prowling the edges of the bubble that Richard created, circling as they watched for the moment when Richard would go back to his own life and Dick wouldn't be able to use him as a crutch anymore.

He was happy now, and nothing else seemed important, but if he had learned anything, it was that you couldn't escape Bruce Wayne.


	14. The Boy Before the Manor

**Author's Note: **Okay, people, the next few chapters are going to be a timeskip, a FLASHBACK to when Dick moved to Wayne Manor. Because the flashback turned out to be reaaallly long, it's split into three chapters, and I will upload them a couple of days apart. Remember this is out of the present timeline. We would be interested in your thoughts and reviews. I, TheAlchemist'sDaughter, wrote the flashback, AmberSpirit is taking a much deserved rest :p

Chapter 14

Dick could still remember the day when he was first brought to Wayne Manor.

The manager at the temporary group home had him ready to be picked up ten minutes before Alfred got there, and Dick remembered looking behind him at the other kids, orphaned or abandoned, all different ages and colourings, but all of them looking at him with the same mix jealousy, hope, hate and sadness that united them. They all hated him, because he was going to be adopted by a billionaire and live in a mansion, but at the same time, it was like their years in the home had stripped them of the energy needed to express their hatred. They just stared at him with blank, waiting eyes, and he was both afraid of and sorry for them. He turned back to stare at the door, trying to envision the moment that Mr Wayne's butler would arrive and take him out of there, in the hopes that that would make it happen sooner. Even though he had no particular desire to live in Wayne Manor, he knew enough to fear being left behind.

He had only been there three days. Three days ago, he'd had parents. He'd had an amazing, colourful life flying high in the circus, awing hundreds of people a night. But then... Somebody had taken it from him. With that thought, came an anger so great it felt like it was pushing against his ribs, his skin, until they would split and a monster would replace him. The bitterness of it was sour in his mouth, and it turned down at the taste as he gritted his teeth, his eyes tightening with a look so dark he imagined he scared most people. His parents had always said revenge was bad, and that good boys that made their parents proud didn't hurt people or misbehave, so whenever these feelings hit, he just had to clench his jaw and wait it out. He couldn't take revenge, he didn't know who was responsible for his parents' fall anyway, but there had to be _justice_.

Someone had killed his parents, he knew it. He'd seen the gear, he knew it had been sabotaged. His father would never, _never_ have left it like that. He _always_ checked and triple-checked the ropes and bars before every show, every single knot and bolt had to be perfect. Dick had seen his father do it a million times, and received a hundred lectures on the importance of it, and a hundred lessons on how to do it _right_. But that night Dick had seen the knot tied _wrong_. It was just wrong, it wasn't loose or frayed, it was _wrong_. His father had never tied a knot like that for the trapeze for as long as Dick could remember, and it didn't even match the one next to it, but by the time Dick got up there to join their act, close enough to _see_, it was too late.

The phony knot had held for a while, but by the time Dick got up to the platform, and had time to notice it, and frown in confusion, it was already strained, slipping. He watched as the end of the rope grew shorter, withdrawing into the knot as it unravelled. He remembered how his eyes stretched as he realised what was happening, and everything just... went... slow...

He screamed. "_Mom_! _Dad_!"

He fell to his knees at the edge of the platform, one hand gripping the square metal as he threw too much of his weight forward, reaching with his other hand towards his parents, fingers outstretched. His cries made his mother look up as she swung back, having just been caught by Dick's father, who couldn't react to his son as he hung by his knees from the bar, facing his wife, but Dick saw him twitch as he heard his son's desperate warning. Dick's mother's green eyes met his, and seemed to teleport him much closer, as if they were _right there_ and if he reached just a little more he could catch them both and pull them up to safety. But then with a last jerk the knot gave out and one side of the trapeze bar currently supporting both his parents became detached, dropping into the void in front of him.

Dick saw with perfect clarity the expression of horror on his mother's face as they fell. His father's hands slipped from hers and she reached for Dick instead. His father managed to tangle in the trapeze for an instant, turning to face his son. He looked up at him with shock and dismay. Dick got to watch them both as they fell.

It wasn't like a dream. In dreams you wake up before you hit the ground. You don't have to see the truly horrible stuff. Dick saw it all. He saw them smack into the hard wood, their bodies much smaller now at that distance. He saw the bounce. He couldn't have heard the crack of their bones but he did. And he saw how his mother kept looking at him, her face dead now, blood spreading slowly out from under her hair. He was leaning over the edge of the platform, too far, his body weight too far forward. He would have fallen, if his whole body hadn't frozen, his shock making every muscle in his body tense, rooting him to the spot.

There were two heartbeats of absolute, echoing, emptiness-of-space silence, and then he screamed. He screamed and he couldn't stop. Both hands now gripped the edge of the platform as he curled on all fours and put everything he had into screaming. He screamed hysterically. It wasn't like a scream of fear, or of pain. It wasn't like the screams in movies. It didn't even sound human. This was raw and startling, it shook you. Anyone who heard it would be able to recall the exact sound for the rest of their lives. There was no identity behind the scream. It was just the sound of a body when its psyche has broken. Dick couldn't see, he couldn't hear himself, he couldn't even think. He could only _know_. Those people he knew as his mother and father, those people he loved and who loved him, the entire foundation for his world, had been sharply and brutally torn away from him. So he screamed and he kept screaming, huddled on that platform, looking over the edge. He filled the tent with his shrieks, marking the moment of his parents' death so that nobody could ignore it.

The audience was screaming too, some of them. The ringmaster had come out and was trying to calm them down, get them to leave without trampling each other. Meanwhile, the other circus members flooded the space below, the clowns and the stage hands, people Dick knew, they all crowded round, and three of them thought to lay something over the bodies, a white tarpaulin with the circus proudly depicted in a circle staring up at Dick.

Strong arms wrapped around him, though he hadn't been aware of anyone climbing the ladder to get to him. They pulled him away from the edge of the platform, hurting his hands in the process as he refused to let go. He still screamed, and fought whoever it was that was holding him. He needed to keep looking down at where his parents were, because the minute he looked away that meant a new moment had begun, the first moment of his life without them, his life as an orphan.

But the man was stronger than him and caught his hands. He was talking but Dick couldn't hear or understand him as he continued to scream and writhe, until eventually a thick, dirty white glove was crammed into his open mouth. It was like the ones the clowns wore and it tasted of chalk and dust. It muffled his screams and after a moment they changed to sobs. He was drawn back against a wide chest as he collapsed forward, sobbing as if he would shake himself apart, his eyes wide open, as if they could never close again. The man rocked him, shushing him, and Dick couldn't remember what happened after that. He didn't know how he got down from the platform, or who the man was. The next thing he could remember was the flashing police lights, and being completely numb and dazed when an officer tried to ask him questions, unable to answer.

Another blackout, and a tall black-haired man was leaning down to him as he sat on something, a blanket clutched around him. The man didn't smile at him, but his blue eyes were piercing. "Dick, my name is Bruce Wayne. I'm going to help you, okay?"

Dick couldn't remember if he replied or not, but after that came the group home and the hardest days of Dick's life. It was a struggle just to be in his own head, to breathe. He would have died if it had been physically possible - that, and he knew he had to survive, to have a life, because he was the only one who knew that his parents' death hadn't been an accident. He was the only person who cared about justice, about avenging them, and making things right.

When the woman at the home had told him he was going to be adopted by Bruce Wayne, she had to explain to him why that was so important. Growing up in the circus, travelling all the time, Dick hadn't had any idea who Bruce Wayne was. But then over the next couple of days he'd learned from the carers and the other kids that Bruce Wayne basically had more money than God, and he _owned_ Gotham city. To be adopted by him was mind-bogglingly lucky, almost crazy, no one could understand it. It was also going to be a secret. A man like Wayne didn't need the press poking their noses into what was just a charitable act. Apparently he had been at the circus that night, and now felt the urge to take care of the little orphan boy. Because you know, they told him in a hushed voice, Wayne was an orphan too.

At first, Dick hadn't wanted to be adopted. His parents might not be around anymore, but he was still a part of their family. He was a Grayson, not a Wayne. He would never be a Wayne. But then he became more aware of his surroundings, of how desperate and wretched life in the home would be for him, and he thought about how useful Wayne's money could be if he could convince the man to look for his parents' killer. And he didn't want to be alone for the rest of his life, he wanted some kind of home, some kind of family. He wanted to belong somewhere. So he let the adoption process go ahead without complaining, and they let him keep his last name.

All that had happened over the last three days. That morning had been his parents' funeral. Wayne had paid for everything. Dick had never seen so many flowers. The coffins, black and shiny, one slightly bigger than the other, reminding Dick of exactly what he was looking at, looked like they had been carved out of polished stone. The graves were in the fanciest cemetery in Gotham, in the best spot, a hill looking over the city. Wayne had offered to pay for a mausoleum, or at least some kind of statue to go over the graves, but Dick had preferred headstones. When asked what should be inscribed on them, he couldn't think of anything. Nothing was good enough to tell the world what amazing, beloved people lay there. So in the end, he had asked for "The Flying Graysons" to be carved under their names, because that was who they were, and Dick couldn't think of a better way to put it. He'd never had to be poetic before.

Wayne was at the funeral, along with his butler, Alfred. They stood with Dick but they didn't talk, and their presence made him uncomfortable. The majority of the guests were from the circus, and it was strange to see clowns and entertainers look so plain and solemn. There wasn't going to be a wake, so after the service, they all paid their respects to the twin coffins, laying flowers in the grave, and then Dick said goodbye to everything he had ever known, one by one. The guests tried to talk to Wayne, get a feel for a man that would be assuming the care of one of their own, but the billionaire seemed to make them uncomfortable too, and he wasn't very forthcoming.

Eventually it was just the three of them standing at the graves.

"Are you coming, Master Dick?" asked the butler, his tone gentle but professionally removed.

Dick was going to have to get used to being called "Master" all the time. "No, I'd like to stay here for a while," the boy replied, staring down into the graves.

"I shall see you at three o'clock then," the old man replied, nodding goodbye, and withdrawing with his boss.

Once they were gone, Dick sat down on the wet grass, not particularly caring about the suit Wayne had bought him for the occasion. He sat there, and looked down into the deep, rectangular graves with their sharp edges, the caskets at the bottom darker than the earth around them, the various flowers scattered on the lids. It was the closest he'd felt to his parents in three days, and he felt calmer somehow. But he also felt that justice _must_ be done - the guilty must be punished – and he felt angry at the world again.

The worst part of it was that he couldn't stop himself from thinking of what his parents must look like in there. Their injuries from the fall would be unhealed, but dressed up to look pretty by the coroner. Their blood replaced by embalming fluid, their lips sewn shut. Soon, five feet of soil would be dumped on top of them and they would be buried, at peace, but out of the way as if they were dirt swept under the rug. And then they would decay, turning yellow, their flesh rotting and falling off their bones. He wondered if bugs could get to them in their coffins.

Thinking of them this way felt like a betrayal to their memory, but he couldn't help himself. He felt dirty and disgusting, and he just missed his mom and dad _so much_. He wanted them to be there with him. They didn't have to go back to the circus, he didn't need his old life back if he could just have them. He just wanted to be held by his father and hear his mother's voice.

It was only when two men in dirty overalls arrived to fill in the graves, hovering awkwardly a few feet away when they saw him, that Dick wiped the tears off his cheeks and stood up. He wanted to say something, tell them he loved them, and that he'd never forget them and all that stuff, but all that came to him was that whoever did this to them, and to him, would pay. He wouldn't let them be just an accident. He wouldn't let the world be wrong about them, forget about them. He would make them proud. He would be the son they would be proud of.

Back at the home, he'd packed what he had in the bag he'd brought it in. He didn't have much, just some clothes. When he'd packed for the home, he looked around his family's trailer and realised it was take everything, or nothing. He felt that he couldn't leave a single thing that his parents had touched behind, but at the same time, it was too painful to even look at a dinner plate. So in the end, he'd only taken his neutral clothes, plain dark colours that didn't remind him of the circus, and at the bottom of the bag, in a plastic bag so he didn't have to see it, he'd taken his Flying Grayson outfit, because he couldn't leave it behind and live with himself. Fate had taken the circus away from him, but he chose his own identity, and he was his parents' son. He was the magnificent charmer of crowds. He could fly.

That was what was in the bag now. He didn't have any books or DVDs, any gadgets, and he wasn't even particularly fond of the clothes he had. He could have left the bag there and not even felt the loss of it. He didn't feel attachment to anything anymore. He'd already lost his parents, and he was kind of waiting for life to get worse and finish the job. But as he sat on the bottom steps of the hall stairs, with the resentful faces of lonely urchins silently watching him, he thought about the glimmer of light that was Bruce Wayne. Living in a mansion wouldn't be too bad, if you have to live somewhere. God, he missed his parents, and he'd trade Wayne and all his money for life with them in a trailer in a blink, but he couldn't do that. Unlike the other kids in the home, someone had taken an interest in him, wanted to give him a life, the best one they could. He was lucky.

He reproached himself immediately. No, he wasn't lucky, he wasn't lucky his parents were dead.

The old doorbell gave a tinny ring, and Dick straightened up, his hand going to the bag. The woman in charge of the home went to the door, smoothing her hair and clothes as she went. When it opened, Alfred gave her a little bow of greeting, but they both knew why he was here. The old man's eyes searched Dick out among the others in the hall, and held an arm out behind him, gesturing through the door. Dick stood up and walked outside, keeping his eyes on the floor, fully away of the dozen eyes watching him walk into a better life than they could ever hope for. Once he got outside, he heard Alfred thank the woman, and he turned to maybe say goodbye, but the door was already closing.

He turned back and Alfred was already halfway to the car, a posh black thing with an unconventional shape.

"Hurry along, Master Dick, we have to get you settled in," he said cheerily, pausing to smile warmly at him over the top of the car, his eyes showing just the right amount of commiseration, before sliding into the driver's seat. Not for the first time, Dick got the feeling that the world was moving too fast for him.

He jogged to the car and climbed into the back seat. "What kind of car is this, anyway?" he asked the butler.

"It is a Rolls Royce, Master Dick, a top of the line English car," replied the old man, with a hint of smugness. As they pulled away, the ride was smoother than any other vehicle Dick had ever ridden in

He ran his hands over the white leather seats, feeling like he'd leave dirty smears everywhere, the car was so much more luxurious and expensive than anything he'd ever experienced before. This Wayne guy must be as loaded as everyone says.

"Um, Alfred? Can I ask you something?" Dick began tentatively.

"Of course, Master Dick."

"Is it true that Mr Wayne is an orphan?" He couldn't yet add "too" to the end of that sentence.

The butler took his eyes out of the rear view mirror. "I'm afraid so, Master Dick. Master Bruce lost his parents in a mugging when he was eight years old," he replied solemnly.

Dick assimilated this information. Maybe he would be able to get along with his guardian. Especially since his parents hadn't just died, they'd been murdered too.

"So who looked after _him_?" Dick continued.

"I did, Master Dick. I had been working for the Wayne family for many it years, it seemed only proper."

Raised by your own butler, huh? Dick wondered how _that_ dynamic worked, who told who what to do. But it must have been nice to be able to stay in your own home, and be raised by someone you know, rather than what Dick was going through. Guess having money like he did made it easier.

It was a long drive across town from the home to Wayne Manor, which was on the outskirts of the city, where there was still space to put an estate that size. Dick looked out of the window, trying to get a feel for the city. He'd never seen it before, never lived anywhere but the circus. He wondered about fate when he considered that this just happened to be the city they were in when his parents were killed. Was there a reason to it? Maybe it was his destiny to become Bruce Wayne's ward.

But that didn't justify the death of his parents.

Eventually the city fell away and was replaced by artificially pleasant suburbia, the houses getting bigger and bigger and further and further apart. Several minutes after Dick saw the last house, Alfred pulled up to a pair of cast iron gates, which creaked open when Alfred pushed a button near the rear-view mirror. Dick craned his head to see, but on either side of the gate was a stone wall covered with thick ivy. This was obviously very private property.

The evidence of Wayne's wealth, and the knowledge that they were minutes away from his new home, increased Dick's nerves, making him feel sick to his stomach and shaky. They drove along a gravelled drive up a vast, sloping lawn. Wayne Manor was now visible, and Dick stared at it with apprehension. It loomed up towards them, _too_ big. It was clearly an old building, built out of different shades of stone, with some ivy tangled at the bottom. It was intimidating and alien to Dick.

The engine cut off and Dick gathered up his bag, his door opening before he could touch it. He looked up at the butler holding it open for him good-naturedly. It made him uncomfortable.

"You don't have to do that for me," he said with an awkward laugh, trying to avoid offending the old man as he clambered out of the car.

"It is my job, Master Dick, I must always maintain the sophistication of the Wayne household," Alfred replied.

"And you don't have to call me 'Master Dick', all the time. Just 'Dick' is fine."

"I take pride in my performance of my duties. Surely you are not asking me to be a poor assistant to Master Bruce, are you, Master Dick?" Alfred replied with a defiant twinkle in his eye, and the faintest curve of a smile.

It was clear that Dick was just going to have to get used to a lot in his new life.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way up white marble steps to a pair of large front doors set into an alcove. The butler preceded him, unlocking a door and then holding that open for him too. Dick just ducked his head as he crossed the threshold.

The first thing that always hits you in a new place is the smell. Wayne Manor smelt empty, like cold stone and distant polish. The carpeted wooden staircase smelt old but classy, subtly suggesting the prestigious heritage of the house. It didn't smell lived in.

Alfred appeared beside him and took his bag in his white-gloved hands, and looked down at him. "Shall I show you to your room?" he suggested, holding his arm out towards the staircase.

"O-okay," Dick answered, barely able to meet the old man's eyes when it was so clear to him that he didn't belong there.

"Master Bruce has ensured that you will have everything you need. No expense was spared in outfitting what will be your bedroom. Feel free to settle in, unpack," - Dick eyed at the half-empty canvas bag as they progressed through muffled corridors. - "While I prepare tonight's dinner. Master Bruce has requested that it be on the table at six-thirty every night from now on, but if you would enjoy a snack before then, that will be perfectly allowed. I often find a little nibble helps me feel at home," the man continued, briefly shooting the boy a wink as they walked.

Finally they came to a room not far down a corridor off the landing with a white door, which Alfred opened without breaking his stride, flattening himself against the door and watching Dick as he walked tentatively into the room.

Looking around, Dick had a moment when he just couldn't believe it. The room was bigger than his family's entire trailer! A _huge_ TV with the stickers still on it hung on the wall; Dick hadn't even known they made them that big! He'd never really paid _much_ attention to the tiny table-top box at home, mainly because, living in a circus, there was always something else to be doing that was more entertaining elsewhere, helping the clowns with their gear or practicing his stunts. But that brought back painful memories.

Dick wandered over to a bookshelf near the TV. The two bottom shelves held the four leading game consoles, and the two shelves above them held a range of games for each. The boy could feel his heart racing. Of _course_ he knew what they were, he'd seen adverts, heard about them, but he'd never actually _seen_ one, let alone all four of them in the same place, for him to use as he wanted! He ran his fingers over the games; some of the titles rang bells, but he'd have to get to know the others, not really having much experience outside some old arcade games.

When he looked closer, the shelves above were neatly filled by DVDs. It looked like Wayne had just ordered every DVD or blue-ray disc that had been released in the past eight weeks. He'd only ever been to the cinema a few times a year with his family. He looked behind him at the bigger-than-double bed, and imagined vegging out with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of soda watching those movies.

There was a desk facing a window with a view of expansive gardens opposite the bed. Dick leaned over to look at the rolling lawns, perfectly rectangular hedges and tall trees outside. At the bottom of the garden, just visible between the tree trunks, he could see more of that stone wall. There was a tall stack of books on the desk, still in their plastic wrapping, and as he tilted his head to read the spines, Alfred explained behind him,

"Master Bruce has enrolled you in the Allen Bex Academy, the top school in the city. He graduated there himself, top of his class." The butler spoke with an air of almost fatherly pride. Dick swallowed heavily. The books looked scary, and Dick had never been much of a reader. His parents had home-schooled him, so he knew some stuff, but they had always been a family of performers, and Dick had thought he would be a trapeze artist for the rest of his life. He hadn't counted on...

But it had happened, and now he had to get used to the fact that his life was entirely different now. Maybe he could go back to the circus when he graduated high-school, but for the next five years, this was his life. It looked like he had some studying to do.

Dick then checked out a small plain door beside the bed, opening it tentatively. It was a walk-in closet big enough for three or four people to lie down in, and the racks were already three-quarters full with clothes, including what Dick recognised as a school uniform by the blazer with an insignia stitched onto the chest. There was also an assortment of jeans, shirts and jumpers. Dick closed the door and looked back at Alfred, trying not to look too bowled over.

"If you notice anything missing, do not hesitate to ask, Master Dick. Perhaps you favour a particular brand, or -"

Dick cut the butler off. "Alfred... It's, it's too much," the boy said awkwardly. Getting this amount of money spent on him should be great, his dream to walk into a room full of toys and clothes and luxuries, but for an orphan who'd never had many material goods, it didn't sit right. It was just stuff, he hardly knew what to do with it.

There was also the tiny, niggling voice that he didn't want to look at, that said that in a life where he could have whatever he wanted, he might start to prefer that life over his true one, the one at home in the trailer with his parents. He'd never forgive himself if he ever looked down on that life. Video games couldn't replace his parents. Their memory was the most valuable thing he owned, but he didn't trust himself to remember that.

Alfred's expression softened and he said, "It is the least we can do. We want you to be happy here, Master Dick. It has been many years since this house has been the home of a teenager. Let us do what we _can_, while we learn what we _should_ do."

Dick let his objections rest with a sickly nod, and the butler broke the intense eye-contact. "I shall leave you alone. If you need me, I shall be downstairs," he said, and withdrew in that professional way, backing out of the room so that he never put his back to his employer, closing the door after him.

Alone now, Dick looked around himself again. He didn't know where to start. He grabbed his bag off the bed and tossed it under one of the racks in the closet, briefly flicking through the clothes before walking out. He wandered over to the bookcase and read over the titles on all the boxes, then crouched to examine the consoles, hoping they came with instructions.

It wasn't long after that, that the solitude of the giant house started getting to him, and Dick went downstairs to find Alfred. At the circus there had always been dozens of people moving around, working and shouting to each other across the vast spaces, and then during the last three days at the home he had been surrounded by other children, packed into too few rooms. But here, in Wayne Manor, there was nothing but quiet, still space, too much space for two men, and now one boy. It made Dick uncomfortable, as if the silence was artificial, like he was being watched.

He had no idea of the layout of the house, so after uncertainly retracing his steps to the stairs and the front hall, he went right, and followed the curve of the house through an elegant sitting room, a dining room and then finally he came to a polished wood swing door, which he pushed open to find the kitchen. The room was well lit, and decorated in wood and off-white tiles. The butler was moving dripping lettuce from the sink to a bowl on the counter behind him, his black coat removed and his white shirt sleeves rolled up, a green apron protecting his front.

"Ah, good afternoon again, Master Dick," Alfred welcomed cheerily.

Dick tried to reply but his uncertainty killed the sound in his throat, and only an awkward squeak that could pass for a "hi" escaped. The boy made his way to one of the tall stools lining the kitchen island so that he could sit facing the butler as he worked. It was strange; Dick didn't have anything he wanted to talk about, but he was acutely aware of a need to be around people. The sunset shone through the windows to tinge the room gold.

"Tonight's dinner will be roast beef with _pomme gratin_, asparagus and Grandma Pennyworth's old family recipe gravy," the old man informed him, smiling. "It has been a while since we have had anything to celebrate around here, and Master Bruce works such long hours, it will be nice to start having family dinners again."

"It sounds great," Dick mumbled. The complexity of the dish, and the amount of thought that Alfred was obviously putting into it, made him feel guilty. He was used to just a simple sandwich, something that took five minutes. That was what he _liked_, he didn't _like_ asparagus, and he remembered all the times his mother had begged, bribed and blackmailed him into eating vegetables, all without much luck, but he knew he would everything set before him in this house. He was morbidly afraid of upsetting his hosts, his _guardians_, and of disappointing them. Could they send him back if they didn't like him? Could they change their minds? What then, back to the home?

The butler alone had made him feel the pressure of expectation. They expected him to make them a _family_, but Dick didn't want that. He already _had_ a family. Just by treasuring his parents' memory, he felt as if he had already disappointed Alfred, but he couldn't be what the butler wanted without betraying his parents. He was stuck.

"I bought some Italian ice cream for dessert, but if you would prefer, I could bake a cake, perhaps cheesecake, or a trifle?" Alfred continued, looking at him with obliging eyes.

_Oh God, no don't make anything more_... "Ice cream's fine," the boy said.

The butler at him for a moment too long, then moved on from the salad to chopping vegetables.

"Master Dick," he begun solemnly, making Dick's stomach drop. He hadn't been good enough. "You must know we don't expect anything from you here. We are glad to have you, to be able to help you in your time of need. And as I mentioned earlier, we are all familiar with bereavement." He wiped his hands on his apron and came round the island, putting a firm old hand on Dick's shoulder, looking down at him. "We are not looking to replace your family, or make you a Wayne. We are only trying to ease the transition, and facilitate your happiness when the time comes that you are ready to feel such," he said.

Dick blinked up at him, his throat choking up in the face of such sensitive, selfless honesty, forcing him to look away. Clearly, this old English gentleman was both compassionate and good-natured, and Dick felt that he was going to get on well with him.

Alfred nodded understandingly and returned to his cooking. Dick felt like taking a moment to compose himself, and slid off the stool.

"I'm going to go look around," the boy offered in way of excuse.

Alfred looked up abruptly. "Ah-" Dick stopped, fearful of having said something he shouldn't have. But then the old man forced a smile and said, "Very well, Master Dick. I shall ring a bell when it is time to come to dinner."

Unsure, Dick pushed through the door and wandered away. Maybe the butler was afraid of him breaking something? Or just thought he was going to poke his nose through his or his master's personal belongings? That hurt Dick, he had better manners than to go pawing through the details of somebody's bedroom or office.

He returned to the hall and took the door on the other side, coming to a room much more modernly outfitted, with a low glass coffee table amongst a group of plush couches and armchairs, and quite a large liquor cabinet-slash-bar. After that he found a conservatory that was more like a tropical greenhouse, a small library of some sort, and a home cinema tucked out of the way down one of the wings. Under the stairs he found a staircase leading to the garage, which was the size of an air craft hangar, and housed easily fifty cars. Some of them were flashy sports cars that were so low to the ground he wondered how a full-grown man like Bruce Wayne was ever supposed to fit in them, there were also giant, gas-guzzling four-by-fours, some recreational vehicles like dune buggies, and some more professional black vehicles, such as a couple more Rolls Royces and a smooth black Jag. As curious about and impressed by the cars as he was, Dick didn't linger in the garage. With so many expensive things down there, it definitely felt like somewhere Alfred wouldn't want him to be.

When he emerged back out of the door under the stairs, he heard a key turning in the lock of the front door, and his heart seized. It must be Wayne coming home from work. He waited where he was, and sure enough when the door was pushed open, the billionaire crossed the threshold. Dick had only ever met the man twice, once at the circus on _that_ night, and then earlier that day at his parent's funeral. Everything else had been communicated through lawyers, the carers at the group home, and Alfred.

Wayne cast an intimidating figure. He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders emphasised by his dark overcoat and business suit. Besides this, he looked too young to have as much money and responsibilities as he did. Dick understood that he had inherited the company from his father. The man put down his briefcase and saw Dick standing at the other end of the hall, looking on nervously.

"Ah, Dick, how are you? Settling in alright?" he said with a smile, hanging up his coat.

"Y-yes, thank you," Dick stuttered, acutely aware that here was the man who was solely responsible for him not being in the depressing family home anymore, and who had raised him up to levels of wealth and comfort only a handful of children would ever know. His future was secure because of Bruce Wayne.

"Good, good. I know it's not easy, losing your parents," the man consoled, mimicking Alfred in the way he came close and put his hand on Dick's shoulder, looking down at him with blue eyes.

"You... you lost yours too, didn't you?" Dick said without thinking, instantly regretting it as the man cleared his throat and took his hand away. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-" he added hastily, trying to excuse his guardian from having to answer.

"It's alright. I did, yes. I was a bit younger than you are, however, and it had a... profound effect on me. I hope you are spared that," he replied.

Dick didn't know how to reply to the enigmatic words so he stayed silent, and after a moment, the elder moved away and said "Let's see how Alfred is doing with the dinner, shall we? I'm starving," and he smiled again, helping to alleviate some of Dick's tension. The boy followed the elder through to the dining room.

**Author's Note:** So? Thoughts? Responses? Also, fanart or icons or anything like that for this story would be deeply appreciated, really inspiring ;)


	15. The Forbidden Boy

**Author's Note:** WARNING: This is the chapter where we find out once and for all what the HORRIBLE THING that Bruce did, and does, to Dick is, in GRAPHIC DETAIL. Not for the faint of heart or cry babies. I have warned you.

AmberSpirit: IT'S BUSINESS TAIIIIMMME FTW !

Chapter 15

Dick sat awkwardly on the satin cushion of the dining chair, his hands in his lap, afraid to touch anything. The thick white linen table cloth was heavy against his thighs, and he was intimidated by the several sets of cutlery before him. He didn't know what they were for, but he planned on just copying Wayne, who sat at the side of the table a space away from where he sat at the end. The billionaire had his back to the kitchen door so that he could look out across the grounds through the long windows that lined the opposite wall. He had turned on the fancy overhead light when they entered the room as the dying sun wasn't bright enough anymore. It made all of the finery glint, and Dick just looked at it in mild panic, while it was clear that his guardian barely saw it.

"So Dick, how are you finding things so far?" Wayne asked congenially, sipping his glass of water. "Do you like your room?"

Dick hurried to look grateful. "Yeah! It's great, I've never had so much stuff before," he answered, not sure how to compliment the place.

Wayne smiled modestly, as if acknowledging some type of ignorance, but in the setting of the dining room it didn't feel quite right. It was too refined for a teenage boy, it would have been more appropriate preceding the words "Thank you, Minister."

"I wasn't sure what to get you, so I just got all of it. But if you ever think of anything you want, just tell Alfred and he'll arrange it for you," Wayne said.

Dick's mind was tempted to push that, ask for something outrageous like a rollercoaster in the back yard. He knew Wayne could afford it, he didn't seem to think much about his money since he bought over a thousand dollars worth of games and consoles when he couldn't decide on just one. Dick didn't miss the instruction to talk to the butler instead of to Wayne himself either, and he wondered why.

"Thank you," the boy replied simply, afraid that saying anything else would offend the man. He wanted to ask why the billionaire had chosen to adopt him, but he thought that might be too big a question for the first night. Besides, the answer was probably simple. Wayne had been at the circus that night, and seeing a young boy get orphaned just as he had been touched a nerve. He was probably just a guy with a big wallet and a kind heart.

Just then, Alfred pushed through the kitchen door, pulling a stainless steel trolley with the evening's meal on it. He moved to the deserted side of the table and set out a side of roast beef, brown on the outside and pink in the middle, on a platter edged with greens, as well as a dish of what looked like cooked potato salad and another of glistening asparagus.

"Drinks, Sir?" he asked Wayne, reminding Dick strongly of an air steward.

"Just coffee, thank you, Alfred," replied the billionaire, and a cup was promptly filled for him, presumably just the way he liked it.

"Master Dick?" Alfred inquired, turning to the boy. He hesitated, unsure of what was on offer, and aware that he already had a glass of water. "There is orange juice, apple, milk..." The butler trailed off expectantly. No sodas, Dick guessed it wasn't that kind of house.

"Um, orange juice? Please, Alfred?" Dick answered awkwardly, belatedly remembering his manners. The second glass in front of him was filled with orange juice from a pitcher which was then set down in front of him, should he want it again. Dick wasn't even used to restaurants this fancy, and he wondered if it would be like this every night. He supposed he'd get used to it eventually.

"Will that be all, Sir?" the butler asked Wayne, his heels coming together and his arms straightening very professionally at his sides.

"I think so," replied the billionaire.

"Very good," and with that the old man gave a tiny bow, more a sort of nod, first to Wayne and then to Dick who also benefitted from a small encouraging smile, before leaving the room.

"I suppose you'll have seen the school books on your desk, Dick?" spoke Wayne's deep timbre, as he reached for the cutlery sticking out of the dishes.

"Uh, yeah, I did," he replied.

"What do you think? The Allen Bex Academy is one of the best schools in the country, you'll get a great education there. You'll be starting in the spring, when you feel ready." Wayne wasn't looking at him, just serving himself asparagus.

"Oh, right... Thanks." Dick still didn't know how to react to all this. He knew it couldn't have been easy to get a clueless circus boy into a school like that, hell, it should have been impossible, but he was beginning to understand what it meant to be Bruce Wayne.

Dick's plate was still empty, while his new guardian's was now full. He was just preparing to serve himself as calmly and coolly as possible, when to his surprise the man beside him held out his large hand for Dick's plate, and the boy found himself thanking him yet again, each time reminding him more and more of how out of place he was.

The plate was soon handed back to him with portions of everything, and though his nerves kept him from feeling hungry, he hadn't eaten a proper meal since yesterday, and the food would make him feel better. Glancing subtly at which knife and fork Wayne was using, Dick copied him and began eating.

The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silence, only occasionally punctuated by small talk and Dick being instructed on life at Wayne Manor. The boy ate every last scrap he was given, even the asparagus, which wasn't as bad as he'd expected but still wasn't something he would really choose for himself, and the salad, which still tasted like grass as he'd always told his mother. They were both relieved when Alfred returned to clear the plates and present dessert.

The butler set bowls in front of them and a third much larger bowl with a mound of soft white ice cream slowly melting inside it. When he moved to wheel his trolley away and disappear again, Bruce stopped him by saying;

"Alfred, why don't you join us for dessert?"

The butler looked up in mild surprise, but then nodded and returned, "Yes, Sir."

He still took the trolley away to the kitchen, obviously considering it bad form to leave it there in his employer's presence while they ate, and when he came back he had a bowl and spoon of his own with him. The old man sat down opposite Wayne on the other side of Dick, and the atmosphere seemed to loosen a bit. Dick had spent more time with the butler than he had with the man who was legally his guardian, so he was comforted slightly by his presence. The butler also seemed to let go of some of his formality, and he seemed to have settled into a familiarity that comes from being with someone for decades, and raising them from boyhood – he was not intimidated by Wayne.

Once again, as the master of the house, Wayne served himself first, then left the spoon for Alfred to serve Dick and then himself. As they began to eat, the ice cream softer, thicker and sweeter than Dick had ever tasted, Wayne spoke again.

"Alfred, maybe after dinner, Dick would like a tour of the house?"

"Certainly, Sir," conceded the old man, smiling at Dick, who didn't feel like mentioning that he had already looked around a little that afternoon.

After that, Wayne asked Alfred about the affairs of the house, whether he had bought this, fixed that, and what the other employees such as the chauffeurs and the gardeners were doing. Dick was happy to sit in silence and just eat his ice cream.

Once they had all finished, and Bruce had excused himself to go off somewhere and spend the evening out of sight, Alfred cleared the table while Dick hung around, waiting for his tour. Over the following hour or so, Alfred led him all through the huge mansion, up and down, explaining the history and significance of all of it, and pointing out where he was and wasn't allowed to go. By the end of, Dick had learned a lot more about Bruce Wayne and his family than he had by sitting with the man earlier.

Alfred had started at the bottom and informed him which cars were the master's favourites and what he liked to use them all for. He had then taken him through the ground floor, explaining how they referred to each of the rooms, such as the Midnight Room that Wayne used to host parties. Upstairs, he had indicated the southern wing of the house, where Wayne had his bedroom, bathroom and study. He showed Dick where his own rooms were, and politely implied that he liked his privacy and not nosy teenagers. Dick didn't mind, he wouldn't dream of doing anything to upset the old man who was quickly becoming the closest thing he had to a friend in the city. They passed a door that opened up to some old wooden stairs that led to the attic, but they didn't go up.

In the dark west wing, Alfred walked past a door without commenting on it, which caught Dick's attention.

"What about this room?" he said, already trying the handle and finding it locked.

The butler turned back to him, but didn't come any closer. "Only Master Bruce has keys to that room," he said after a moment's hesitation. "If you wish to know more, he would be able to tell you more than I am." And he gestured for the boy to follow him away.

Dick found that very mysterious, but he left it alone. He didn't want to push on his first day there, and he knew he wouldn't be asking Wayne anything about it. But he thought maybe he would go back when he was alone, and try to catch the door unlocked. He was naturally curious, something his mother had always warned him about.

By the end of the tour, Dick was worn out, more emotionally than physically. It had been a difficult day, starting with his parents' funeral and ending with having the reality of his new life pushed in his face, not to mention the stressful, awkward dinner with Wayne and adjusting to his new home. The boy lay down on his bed, trying to sort through everything and failing. It wasn't long before tears came to his eyes, and he curled up on his side, dragging a pillow tight against his chest, crying silently as he missed his parents and wished that nothing had ever changed. He stayed that way for hours, and it was late by the time he finally undressed and tried to sleep in the over-sized bed.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Dick learned the routine of Wayne Manor, getting up early and being presentable every day, no slouching around in his pyjamas. The meals slowly became less fancy, but they still couldn't be called casual. He learned to call his guardian by his first name, while Bruce gradually became more and more distant. It was often days at a time before Dick saw him, and it was even rarer that he had a chance to have a conversation with him, though he soon learned that they had nothing to talk about. The man became cold, and as Dick watched him interact with the media, and the endless stream of women he brought home, he realised that the billionaire had cultivated a separate, 'playboy' persona, different from the one he expressed at home, and that it had been this fake side of the man that Dick had been treated to on his first day there. Bruce didn't smile anymore unless it was for a camera or a pretty face.

He tried the door to the forbidden room, as he had come to call it, a couple more times, but it was always locked, and he was beginning to fear his guardian, and what would happen if he made the man angry.

Dick hung around Alfred, but the old man always had some work or issue that needed his attention, and the boy grew tired of feeling like he was always in the butler's way or under his feet.

He explored the grounds, but that didn't entertain him for long, and it was too cold to stay outside for long. Stuck inside all day, he grew very bored, very fast. He tried some video games, some DVDs, but he either couldn't figure them out or they just made him feel more lonely. Eventually, the day came when he was forced to admit that he just lived in Wayne Manor with the two men, they weren't a family.

That thought made him bitter. _Very_ bitter. With all the money they had, couldn't they afford to spend some time with him? Just an hour or two every couple of days, enough to make him feel noticed, like they were engaging with him? It made the loss of his parents all the more painful, that his life had been reduced to _this_. On the outside, it looked like he should be on cloud nine. These people had everything, what could there possibly be that Bruce Wayne and his old English butler couldn't give him? It was only when he discovered that that was just a facade that he realised how much he'd believed it when he'd first been adopted into the Wayne household.

And then came _that_ night.

Dick remembered waking to Alfred standing in the open doorway of his room, saying his name and telling him to get up.

"Why? What's going on?" he asked as he sat up in the bed, looking at where the butler stood, still as formal and professional as ever, his back straight and his expression blank. One gloved hand stayed attached to the door handle as if he was afraid to come further into the room. Dick looked beyond him for smoke, thinking there must be a fire or some other emergency that required him to get out of bed at three in the morning.

"Master Bruce is asking for you," replied the old man in the crisp English accent that Dick was used to now, but now it sounded removed, hard.

"Why? What for?" Dick tried again, his mind still slow and blurry.

"Get dressed," the butler ordered now, with the faintest hint of authority that said there wasn't room for questions.

Dazed, Dick struggled to the edge of the bed, pulling his clothes on from their pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. Moving on automatic, he also tied on his shoes, before stumbling out of the room into the hallway.

Alfred shut his bedroom door and faced him. "Master Bruce requests your presence in the west wing study," he said, still more formally than usual.

"Huh? Alfred, I don't..." His eyes almost falling closed, he tried to tell the butler that he had no idea where the 'west wing study' was.

Suddenly, gloved hands gripped him roughly and spun him around, turning him so that he was facing away down the corridor, and pushed him. "The room that is always locked!" snapped the butler, with more emotion than Dick had ever prompted from him. He sounded frustrated, angry, and... scared?

_Now_ Dick knew which room they were talking about, but why would Bruce want to see him _there_, at this time of night? He looked over his shoulder at the old man, still barring the way back to his room, watching as he began to walk sleepily towards the forbidden room.

Something is his stomach twisted as he moved through the dark and empty mansion alone, heading towards God knows what. The house was creepy at night, so silent, as if no world existed outside, and the life of three people was not enough to fill it. Again Dick had the feeling that something was watching him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A shiver went through him, and he shuddered, and shook himself to get rid of it. He walked a little quicker. Even the company of his estranged guardian was better than being by himself in these haunted halls. It made him feel... vulnerable.

Then he came to the door that had never been open to him before.

Strange noises came from inside, and there was no reply to his knocks.

The man was hurt - Bruised and... _Tired_.

Dick read to him, some old book about kings and queens.

Bruce got up and

locked

the

door.

"Why are you..."

Dick didn't finish what he was going to say. Bruce had turned and looked at him, the key back in his pocket. His expression was hard to read, distorted by the light and shadows of the dusty light bulb in its dusty shade hanging from the ceiling. Resignation? Anticipation? Dick shrank into the chair, curling away from the man, unconsciously bringing the large book up to his chest like a shield.

Bruce didn't move.

"Put your hands on the desk."

The words, spoken only quietly, echoed through the empty room until Dick's ears were ringing with them. They too, were utterly expressionless. The tone was as of someone who was disappointed, but not surprised.

"Wh...What?" Dick panted, finding it hard to catch his breath. His chest felt constricted, the way it did when he fell from the trapeze, that exact moment when his fingers slipped from the bar and he thought he would fall to smack into the ground, but then the net would catch him and it would be alright again. It was that moment, that _fear_, only stretched out so that instead of an instant, it was minutes, and his body turned sick with it, an acidic burn hurting his stomach and spreading to his chest.

Bruce repeated the same thing.

"Put your hands on the desk."

Dick tried to look closer at his guardian's face, but he couldn't even tell if the man was looking at him or at some other point in the room. His posture was relaxed, but not casual. His arms hung almost dead by his sides, his skin painted a jaundiced yellow by the old light bulb.

Dick looked around him, as if his eyes would fall on some clue as to what was going on, but all he saw were books and stationary equipment, all covered with the same layer of dust, as if Bruce never did anything in this room other than sit without touching anything. Dick wondered in horror where he was.

Why had Bruce locked the door? Why? Why lock them in together? Did Bruce want privacy? Did he want to make sure they weren't interrupted? Or did he want to keep Dick from escaping? Why why why? He couldn't even begin to guess.

"Sh-Shall I keep reading?" Dick suggested desperately, jerking the book upwards, his voice unnaturally high in his fear.

Bruce's limp hands twitched, as if some half-thought had imagined fists.

"No," the man replied, his voice striking a low, hollow tone like a far bell on a foggy night. "I told you..."

One heavy foot came forward.

"To put your hands..."

Its partner overtook it.

"On the desk!"

Bruce lunged forward and in a flash, Dick was up. The book closed with a snap and landed on the desk as the boy threw himself around to the other side of it, his back to the moonlit window, the curtains open to the night.

Alarmed, uncomprehending and absolutely terrified by the much larger man's behaviour, Dick looked at Bruce as he leaned over the desk, hands quiet for the moment on the wooden surface. The man looked manic, disturbed, and the boy thought _He's crazy_.

"Bruce, what's wrong with you? Did something happen? I-I mean, you're scaring me. I don't get it, what's going on?" he babbled, some part of him hoping that as a last ditch effort, if he addressed the situation honestly, Bruce would stop acting like this and explain himself.

Instead, as Dick edged backwards, Bruce leaned slowly forwards.

"Dick... are you listening to me?"

A growl grew in ferocity in his otherwise eerily calm voice as he spoke, like the rumble of a demon from far inside a dark cave.

For a moment, like a child with his shoelaces caught in the train tracks hearing the locomotive's whistle in the distance, Dick could only stare at his guardian, his eyes wide and his heart racing painfully, as if it was determined to escape what was coming, breaking out of his body if it had to. Then the tension in the room snapped and, just like a wild animal, Dick ran. He tried to make a break for it, get round the side of the desk before Bruce caught him, get to the door. He knew it was locked but his animal brain demanded action.

_Run, Run_.

For the briefest moment, the boy thought he heard a laugh, deep and sinister, amused by its prey, but it might have been just his blood pounding in his ears. Then something much bigger, and much heavier, slammed into him from behind. The force of it drove him painfully into the wall, flicking the light switch and ending the dusty yellow glow of the only light in the room.

As he was pitched into darkness, Dick screamed, his fingers scrabbling for the wall, hands flailing in the air.

"No!"

He was swung bodily though the room with such strength that his feet left the ground as his captor merely pivoted where he stood to return he boy to where he had been a moment ago, standing by the desk. Dick pushed and pulled and grappled with the iron arms around his waist, kicking his feet, but to no effect. Large hands gripped his wrists and slammed his hands down onto the desk as easily as if his arms had been full of straw. All the while, the boy grunted and fought, but the man was inexplicably strong.

It was then, as the older man's large body stood perfectly still behind his own as Dick struggled, the strong, still hands holding his arms to the desk, did the boy realise that he had been wrong before. Bruce _wasn't_ crazy. There wasn't a single tremor in his muscles, not the faintest whisper of laboured breathing. He was calm, and knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

"Let go of me!" Dick shouted, but he instantly received a blow to the back, sharp, as if dealt by an elbow, that sent him sprawling forwards onto the wooden edge, and the old green leather that covered the writing area, bolted down by brass tacks. It was only then that he realized one of his hands had been released, but before he could try to use it, his right was twisted painfully up behind him, pressed down tight against his back until his shoulder lit on fire and he couldn't move. He could barely breathe, Bruce was holding him down so hard.

Dick felt the man's chest cover his back as he leant down against him, and his guardian's voice spoke in his ear, lips so close that his breath stirred his hair and tickled painfully, making the boy try to jerk away, earning himself another painful slam into the wood. The objects on the desk – pens, pencils, the edge of the book – they all dug into him hard, making him squirm but he couldn't find relief from their niggling pains.

"You're staying," Bruce growled into his ear, making Dick's blood run cold as ice. Behind him, he heard the chinking of metal, and the rustling of fabric.

"What are you going to do?" he demanded. "What are you going to do?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dick doubled his struggling, despite the feeling that his shoulder was going to burst open, because his mind only told him one thing. What did he _think_ Bruce was doing?

But no! Bruce wasn't a –

Adopting a little orphan boy, not telling anyone about it... He wouldn't be the first rich guy to –

So he was going to –

Oh God, was that his –

Dick struggled, screaming, throwing his body in every direction, even into the heavy desk, but it didn't move an inch, it was as much like stone as the man who owned it. With his free hand, he tried to push himself up but he was too weak against Bruce's strength. He tried to remove Bruce's hand from his other wrist, pulling and scratching, but it was as if the man couldn't even feel it, and he had no leverage to try to break any of the man's fingers. He clawed helplessly at the desk, gauging the leather.

As he fought, he was suddenly lifted and shifted up the desk, being driven down onto the hard surface again before he could even think to take advantage of the situation. All the sharp little objects trapped beneath him stabbed and tortured him, he could feel the spine of the thick book bending one of his ribs as he was forced down onto it, and a pencil dug through his shirt to start work on his skin.

Now he wasn't just bent over the desk, he was lying flat against it, as far forward as he could go, the edge digging into his hips. His shoulder burned more and more every moment.

Bruce's free hand gripped his trousers at the back, and ripped downwards. He was wearing a belt but the man just pulled again, and again, scraping the skin raw until he was exposed.

Dick screamed again, knowing that the house was secluded and his screams wouldn't travel far enough to alert any of the neighbours or even any insomniac walking their dog right outside the gate.

"Quiet!"

His screaming earned him a vicious, powerful punch to the head, almost knocking him out but not quite. It turned his vision white and killed his voice for the time being though, while a foot kicked his legs apart, so far apart that his entire weight was now supported by the desk, his toes scrabbling for some kind of purchase.

A low moan of arousal sounded from the man behind Dick as he held him down, stimulated by the sight before him.

Utterly humiliated, the boy heaved a great, dry sob that ripped at his throat. His most intimate parts were being lusted over by his guardian, and he could do nothing to stop it. He was powerless, a twisted mass of pain, while the brute behind him purred at the view.

His shoulders gave another spasmodic jerk as he crushed his eyelids together, the next sob ending with a new, desperate wail.

"_Quiet_!" Bruce snarled, and with one final, enraged twist, the bone in Dick's arm separated from his shoulder.

The pop was traumatically audible to the boy's ear right beside it, but it was almost instantly forgotten as the pain erupted from his throat in fresh shrieks. He was blind from it, wanting to writhe but still restrained. The arm lay still on his back, a useless branch of paralysed meat. After a moment, the cries quietened into wretched sobs, and his tormentor offered him this advice;

"Now don't disobey me again, or I'll do the same thing to your other one."

He spoke as if he was talking about confiscating a toy, calmly reprimanding.

For a moment, the threat worked, and Dick lay crying messily into the leather, his face slipping in his own tears and saliva, as Bruce's large hand held him down. He turned his face down into the wood, closing his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.

"Good," the beast encouraged, and one hand carelessly slapped the dead arm from the boy's back, so that it landed with a soft plop by his side. Then fingers ran up and down his spine under his shirt, pressing hard against the vertebrae, making the skin sore.

He made an appreciative sound, like a growl or a moan. "You're so..." the man trailed off, and Dick cried harder, his whole body shuddering with the force of it as he wanted to vomit, disgusted with himself.

The only warning he got was when suddenly, he wasn't being touched anymore. He gasped and raised his face from the desk just in time to scream again, when two hands roughly gripped his hip bones, and a pain like he never knew forced its way into him with one thrust, accompanied by a dark grunt.

Dick's mind, shredded by the night's events, could only summon scraps of thoughts.

_Oh my God, that's his –_

_He's really – me!_

_He's inside me!_

He knew what it was. Of course he knew what it was. He knew what Bruce was doing to him, what was hurting him that way. It made him sick, it made him want to vomit, and as his guardian drew out of him, only to thrust back in with the same force, ripping him inside, Dick felt as if it was somehow pushing against his stomach, impossibly deep, stimulating his gag reflex.

He felt warmth gush inside him and as Bruce slid back, as rigid as ever but slick now, Dick knew he was bleeding. His panicked brain flew to one conclusion, clinging to that one stable thought like a victim clings to a rock in white water rapids: He was going to die. This was going to kill him. Rip him up, shred and tear him, make him bleed and damage him and kill him.

And on top of that thought, another: He had to survive. He wanted to live. He didn't want to die like his parents.

He had already screamed, he had shrieked at the top of his lungs, but there was no one who could hear him, except for one man. The third member of the Wayne household, the butler.

So as Bruce move one hand from his hip to push one cheek aside and drove into him again, driving each painful point of the objects the boy was forced down upon deeper into the flesh of his chest, the edge of the desk slamming into his hipbones with each thrust, pulverising his trapped genitals, Dick screamed again, but this time, he screamed a name.

"Alfred! Alfred, _please_! Help me!"

The old man _must_ have been able to hear him, and he _couldn't_ be ignoring him. No one could turn a deaf ear to the violent bloody rape of a thirteen year old child. Not when he had been so kind to him, not when he was supposed to look after him. Not Alfred.

Almost as soon as he had started, however, Bruce gripped the back of his neck forcefully, pinching hard, hurting Dick and stopping some veins. The man turned the boy's face back to the surface of the desk.

"Don't scream his name," Bruce warned, his voice beginning to sound strained by his activities.

Dick quieted. He knew the butler had heard. He knew he would come. Bruce might have the only key to the door, but just to know that somebody had _tried_... The rattle of the door handle, a pounding fist on the wood would save him. He couldn't be abandoned now.

The boy tried to focus on that, tried to envision the door handle turning and hear the butler's voice demand to know what was going on. Then Dick would cry out again, tell him everything, and he would have a witness, a defender, and Bruce wouldn't go unpunished.

He tried to focus on that, instead of the erratic pumping of Bruce's engorged sex organ repeatedly piercing his soft, raw flesh. He could feel the blood running freely down his thighs, hear the wet squelch of each new penetration, feel the sickening tap of Bruce's sack against his own.

The man leant over him more heavily, adding to the new weight of the hand crushing his neck, and he grit his teeth to prevent his jaw being broken against the desk. Bruce was grunting, his thrusting sped up.

The man's free hand clenched Dick's hip as if he wanted to snap it off.

_Is it going to end soon? Is he going to –_

It was an alien thought, something Dick only knew about in theory, being so young, but now he was going to learn the reality of it, only not in a way he would ever have imagined. It would not be his own ejaculation he would be feeling, shared with some future girlfriend, it would be his guardian's, violently forced upon him, stealing his innocence.

With a long, shuddering groan, a sound that would haunt Dick, the boy's numb insides were barely able to register the new heat being added to the wetness inside him. The thought of Bruce's sexual release inside his body, a piece of that man that he chose to leave in there against Dick's will, was enough to make him wretch, but Bruce kept him pinned down as his erection shrunk inside him, forcing him to feel it every last moment, stored forever in vivid sensory memory.

When he did eventually leave Dick's broken, bloody body, he did so with one final touch, releasing Dick's neck and running his hand smoothly down his side and flank. He moved away, redressing, while Dick half-slid off the desk, his entire body in flames of pain, his right arm flopping uselessly by his side. When he tried to move, one leg tensing almost by itself, he fell onto the floor, wet with his blood.

He watched from the floor as Bruce walked to the door and unlocked it, never once looking back at the boy. Left alone, the smell of bodily fluids, the pain, and the knowledge of what had just happened to him, in all its graphic horror, rushed upon him at once, and he coughed up his weak stomach's contents down his front.

From outside, he heard a brief exchange.

"Alfred."

"Yes, Sir."

Into the room came the shape of another, slighter man. The butler strode briskly over to Dick, and picked the boy up in his arms. The world tilted dangerously for the boy, and being held caused arrows of pain to shoot through him, but that wasn't the worst part.

"Why didn't you come?" the boy whimpered, to no reply. "Why didn't you save me? I was screaming for you as loud as I could. Don't you know what he did to me? We have to call the police, Alfred, we have to call the police. And a doctor, I need a doctor. He hurt my arm..."

Dick kept talking in the same weak, childlike voice all the way back to the bathroom by his bedroom, and all the while that Alfred was stripping him. In the bathroom, the butler turned the shower on him, and the boy screamed and jerked and cried as the water touched his wounds. But the old man just shushed him reassuringly and cleaned him with the softest touch, being careful of his arm.

"Don't worry, Master Dick. I'm a doctor, I can take care of you," he murmured.

"Alfred, why didn't you come? I needed you, Alfred, we have to call the police," the boy continued as if his words were on a loop.

Back in his room, Alfred sat him on the bed, and presented him with two pills and a glass of water.

"For the pain, Master Dick," he said, before almost forcing the pills down the boy's throat and washing them down with the water. "I will fix your arm when you are asleep, you will not feel a thing, I promise..."

Soon after that, Dick was unconscious.

**Author's Note: **I KNOW RIGHT? Please review, we would LOVE to hear your reactions to this piece, that we've been building up to for almost a year now. I hope you liked (if that's the right word) it, I hope that if you understood that it was coming, that it didn't disappoint you and was everything you hoped it would be. I did my best.


	16. The Butler's Boy

**Author's Note: **Hellooooo, faithful readers! Time for the LAST of the flashback chapters! This one is... still horrible. In some ways it's better, but in other ways it's worse. Thank you for all of the reviews, those of you who DID (and those of you who DIDN'T, you know who you are. You think I'm doing this for my health?) So I have a question. Do you like the rape? The detail of it? Or rather, do you think it improves the story? We want to make the horror REAL after all. I mean, don't get me wrong, we're still going to write this fic OUR way, with as much or as little detail as we want, but it would be nice to get a survey, you know? See how many people we're alienating, and how many we're .... enticing ;)

Chapter 16

When Dick awoke many hours later, his body felt drugged, numb, and his head was cloudy. He felt as if he was still half-asleep, unable to feel anything, and completely unaware. His eyes were sore as he cracked them open blearily. The curtains were closed, but he could tell from the light shining through that it was quite late in the morning. He wondered briefly why he had been allowed to sleep in, before trying to sit up, only to immediately collapse back against the pillows with a gasp as agony hit him from every part of his body. Shocked for only an instant, he then remembered the events of the previous night and the origin of his pain. He wretched at the memory, but thankfully nothing came up.

The boy shut his eyes tight and turned his face into the pillow, ignoring the pain in his neck, head and face, trying to escape the memory. He wanted to curl his entire body over into a ball, but the excruciating pain stopped him. That, and thick pillows had been packed in all around him under the sheets, presumably to stop him from moving around too much in his sleep. He realised that his shoulder was in a sling and strapped to his body, and he slowly became aware of more bandages wrapped firmly around other parts of him. There wasn't an inch of him that didn't hurt, muscles he hadn't even been aware of were now stiff and aching, his bones were bruised and his skin was scratched, but the worst pain of all unquestionably came from his abdomen, on the inside, where he had been... torn up.

So he lay still, breathing heavily under the intense pressure of not only the physical pain, but the emotional as well.

What Bruce had done to him... It was still going on, in his head. The memory of it abused him, twisting and tearing at his mind as it forced him to relive it all, beginning, middle and end simultaneously, with the horror of hindsight. There was no adrenaline now, no fighting urgency to distract him, just the ability to look at it all and question what he could have done differently, how he could have stopped it, why it had happened to him.

The look on the man's face... The beating... The pain... The _penetration_... All of it, he could summon all of it back to him with crystal clarity, knowing that he would never be able to forget any of it for as long as he lived. He remembered how it felt, what it sounded like, the smell of the dusty leather desk...

He thought he would vomit again as a crippling wave of shame and humiliation crashed over him, and this time it was bad enough to make him roll over, leaning on his good arm and trying not to hurt his shoulder any further as he threw his head over the side. The bin had been moved to be close to him, and he reached for it, coughing until he couldn't breathe, but again, he was spared actually voiding his stomach. As he tenderly manoeuvred himself onto his back once more, he supposed it was because he hadn't eaten anything for over twelve hours. His eyes fell on two more of the pills Alfred had given him last night, next to a glass of water on his bedside cabinet, but he decided not to take them. The butler might have claimed they were painkillers, but given his long and dreamless sleep, and foggy state now, he suspected they were strong sleeping pills, and he didn't want to go back to sleep. He wanted to be alert and prepared for whatever happened next.

Alfred... It must have been him that bandaged his wounds, and dressed him in the fresh pyjamas he now wore. Dick remembered the butler's promise to call the police on his master and took a small, nervous comfort in that. His face crumpled again as he remembered the butler removing him from that cursed study, half-naked, covered in vomit, bleeding, and more than a little delirious, and felt that shame again. He didn't want the butler to know. Dick didn't want _anyone_ to know. He had been violated, but if nobody knew, then he could pretend that it had never happened. Knowing that the event existed in the butler's memory as well made it _real_.

He couldn't bring himself to think about his guardian.

The boy just wanted to disappear, become invisible. The fact that he would have to live with the repercussions was unbearable. But at the same time, a fierce burn in his chest made him _angry_. It was the same kind of anger he had felt over the death of his parents. It was wrong, it shouldn't have happened, and he was going to set it right, make someone pay for what they've done, and ensure justice is done. Bruce was going to pay. The police would come, and Bruce would be torn apart by the media before being sent to jail for a long time.

It was laughably obvious now why the billionaire hadn't wanted the adoption made public.

His parents... He couldn't think about them, about how he'd let them _down_. What would they think of him now? It would break their hearts if they were alive. A part of Dick was almost glad they were dead, so that they didn't have to see what their son had become. That was a horrible thought, but it wasn't as horrible as the ugly, twisting black seed growing in the deepest, darkest part of him – that he hated them for dying and putting him in this situation, for letting this happen to him. Dick refused to acknowledge that thought.

But the house was too quiet. Surely if Alfred had called the police, then they would be here by now. He should be able to hear the trample of heavy boots on the stairs, but there was just silence. Hell, he should be in a hospital. He wondered where they were, worried by their absence. It didn't feel right for everything to be so quiet and peaceful after what had been done to him.

But, he reasoned, maybe they hadn't been able to wake him from his narcotic sleep, and had already taken Bruce away. Or maybe Alfred had waited to call them until Dick woke up, so that he could tell the officers himself what had happened, and show them the evidence of it that still coloured his body.

Either way, he didn't want to stay in bed anymore. While running into Bruce would be a _nightmare_, the boy wanted to find Alfred, and find out what the plan was. At least he wasn't alone in this, Dick thought grimly.

Bracing himself for the pain, Dick reached with his good arm and lifted the duvet, folding it back. He took a moment to compose himself after that minimal exertion, breathing heavily again. He could still feel the effects of the pills, making his body sluggish and difficult to move, and a headache was starting to grow behind his eyes. Then he slid one leg out of the bed, pushing the pillows surrounding him to the floor. Slowly and painfully, he eased the rest of his body out, but as soon as he tried to put any weight on his legs and stand up, they buckled under him and he pitched forward, landing with a cry of pain as with only one arm to catch him, he had gone down on his bad shoulder.

As he lay on the carpet, trying to get his knees under him, he heard the bedroom door open and a crisp English accent say quietly "Master Dick?"

For a moment, Dick wasn't sure if he wanted to answer, shame and strangely, fear preventing him. But then the door clicked shut, and Dick thought the old man had left, as he had never shut himself in with Dick before. But then Alfred appeared around the bed.

"You are awake. Did you fall out of bed?" Gloved hands picked him up and sat him on the bed, clearly trying to get him to lie down again, but Dick batted him away.

"Alfred, did you call the police?" the boy asked earnestly, leaning forward, trying to see into the man's murky brown eyes as he kept them respectfully averted.

"You are not well, Master Dick, you need to stay in bed and rest. I will get you anything you want from downstairs. Perhaps you would like some breakfast? There may still be some _pain au chocolat_ from yesterday, or I could mix you some fruit salad -"

"Alfred!" Dick interrupted him, feeling tears come to his eyes from some already repressed emotion. He was a wreck and he hated it, which was why he _needed_ the butler's support. "Did you call them?"

After a pause, and the faintest exhalation through his nose in frustration, the butler answered. "I will make the arrangements, Master Dick. Why not lie down? You must be in some pain, why not take some more painkillers-"

The butler continued trying to force him back down against the pillows while reaching for the pills on the bedside cabinet. Dick pushed him off.

"No, I don't want them!" he said too loudly, causing an awkward silence in the room, Alfred still refusing to meet his eyes, fixing his gaze professionally on some point behind Dick. The boy was ashamed by his outburst. His emotions were all out of wack, he could control neither them nor his body. He wanted to be alone so he could get a handle on them, stop showing his weakness. "I want a shower," he said eventually, dejected.

"Master Dick, I'm not sure you are strong enough just yet, and your bandages-" The butler tried to object, but Dick just forced himself to stand up. The drugs were wearing off as his bad mood made him animated, and he found he could keep his feet.

"I want a shower," he repeated harshly, stumbling away from the butler and the bed towards the door. "Have breakfast ready when I get out," he ordered imperiously, petulantly wanting to strike out at the difficult old man.

When he reached the bathroom, he began trying to struggle out of his pyjamas one-handed. Alfred appeared at the door, clearly having followed him. Dick ignored him.

"Let me help you, young Master," he said, coming forward and quickly unbuttoning the shirt of the blue pyjamas. Dick didn't say anything, but he allowed it. He felt ashamed of his wounds and bruises and the story they told, but he reasoned that Alfred had seen much more the night before. Strangely, the butler's movements brought back memories of his parents. They were the only ones to have ever taken care of him in this way, dressing him, undressing him, buttoning his jacket before sending him out to play in the snow when he was little. He felt vicarious warmth for the old man as his gloved fingers made short work of the fastenings.

The sling was undone and Alfred's grip on his arm was not released as the shirt was worked over it, keeping the arm bent as if it would snap off entirely if they were not careful. The man draped the shirt over his arm like a towel, and then retied the sling. The entire manoeuvre was carried out with only a couple of twinges from Dick's shoulder, much less than if he had done it himself. The man then moved his hands to the waistband of the pyjama bottoms, and suddenly a flash of the night before hit the boy of another man's hands, and he jerked away violently.

"I'll do that!" Dick said, his breath coming quickly. Alfred made no objections.

"Very well, your bandages then?" he said calmly, waiting for Dick to come to him.

Dick stood still as he was nimbly stripped of various plasters and bandages, which the butler kept neat in his hands. "I will want to replace them after your shower, Master Dick," he said, with the tone of doctor's orders.

The boy just nodded and waited for the butler to go, before he hastily locked the door and breathed a sigh to calm himself. Then he turned his eyes to the mirror above the sink for the first time.

He had prepared himself for his reflection to look rough, and he knew he would have more bruises in a few days, as most of them had not had time to grow. In the meantime, his chest was dotted with small punctures and scratches from the objects on the desk that he had been forced onto; he could remember that. His shoulder looked discoloured already, and badly swollen. His tested its motion, but stopped quickly when fire roared in the joint. His chin weakened as he considered the effect the injury might have on his gymnastics, and he forced that thought away. His face was swollen in places, his lips split, a harsh graze on his forehead. His hair was a mess, and in trying to smooth it, he found several bumps.

His neck looked like he had been strangled, a dark red coming round the sides telling of the mark that circled his nape. His nails on his good hand were broken and his fingers sore. He turned around, trying to see his back. More scratches and surface wounds, some bruising around his ribs. These were all things he _needed_ to see, he needed to see it all, to _know_, to see the marks, the evidence, and own it. By knowing his own body, he could reclaim it. Denial would only weaken him.

But the worst was yet to come. He could feel the painful throbbing ache of what was probably the worst bruise of all, as of yet out of sight. It felt soft and liquid, as if his flesh had been pulverised, like an orange that had been dropped on the floor. With his good hand, he drew down the pyjama bottoms, kicking them away and leaving him naked. There, just above his genitals, spanning the width of his hips, was a dark purple and black band where he had been crushed and repeatedly driven into the edge of the desk. He touched his fingers to it, testing the integrity of it, relieved when it felt like the rest of his body and not like his fingertips might puncture paper-thin skin and release a gush of putrid blood.

His legs were, for the most part, untouched. He turned again and saw some redness on the back of his thighs, but it was comparatively little. And the worst violation, the wound he felt inside him, was invisible from the outside. He could only feel it, with every movement his body made, a constant reminder of his shame.

Dick turned away from the mirror and turned the shower on, letting the water run for a bit. Washing would be difficult with the sling, but he wasn't too concerned about that, he just wanted to be alone for a while.

He stepped into the stream and gritted his teeth. The water felt cold against his sore and swollen shoulder, but it felt too hot against the scratches on his chest. He grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it tenderly over himself. The sling became saturated and heavy, digging into his neck beneath the bruise Bruce had given him. He washed away the dried blood that had oozed after Alfred had bathed and bandaged him, and it took him five minutes of scrubbing to admit that he couldn't wash away the feeling of Bruce between his cheeks, piercing his insides.

He felt panic claw at his chest but he refused to let it take hold. He would _not_ be living here much longer. Bruce, or anyone else, would never be able to do anything like that to him again. He was injured, but he would heal, and justice would be done. The guilty would be prosecuted and punished. He was a victim now, but he wouldn't always be. The police would come, Alfred would support him, and it would be over.

After washing his hair awkwardly, he turned the water off. He dried himself, then realised the only clothes he had to go back to were the pyjama trousers on the floor, which he could now see he had bled onto in the night, a dark red patch marking the seat. Humiliated, Dick pulled them on, and nervously left the bathroom. His exposed chest made him cold now, and he feared running into the master of the house. Moving quickly back to his room, Dick felt that the drugs were no longer affecting him. He could move better, and think more clearly, and he was also in a lot more pain than when he woke up.

He shut his bedroom door behind him and hurried to get dressed, disappearing into the walk-in closet. As he was doing that, hurting himself in the process, his bedroom door opened again and Alfred entered, carrying a large tray. One side was the breakfast he had asked for, the other was fresh bandages.

"Master Dick, let me help you," said the old man, depositing the tray on the bed and approaching the closet.

"It's fine!" Dick said hurriedly, hastily jerking on the jeans he had been struggling into.

"Come here and I will replace your bandages."

The boy went, and picked at the food, while Alfred covered the worst of his wounds with large white plasters, and applied cream to the various bruises. When he was finished, he chose a shirt from the racks in the closet, and helped Dick's injured arm through the sleeve before doing the buttons for him. It wasn't one Dick would have chosen for himself, but he didn't care enough to object.

"How long before my arm feels better?" the boy asked the butler, noting how neither one of them had yet mentioned just how he had received the injuries.

"It was dealt with quickly, and there was no ligament or cartilage damage. It should be back to normal within six weeks, and you'll be able to use the arm before then," the old man replied with what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but without the eye contact that should have accompanied it, it felt fake and fell flat. He tied the arm up in a new sling, restricting its movement.

"How do you know how to do all this stuff anyway?" Dick asked, adjusting the material to make it more comfortable.

"I was a medic in the armed forces many years ago," the man answered, tidying away the medical supplies on the tray and moving the rest of the food closer to Dick.

Dick was unsure what that meant exactly, whether Alfred had done some first aid courses as a teen recruit however many decades ago that was, or whether he qualified as some kind of doctor, but he knew he shouldn't be surprised that Bruce Wayne's butler knew more than how to just cook and clean. He finished his breakfast.

Dick didn't see his guardian again that day, nor for several days after that. This was both a relief to Dick, because it meant he didn't have to confront what had happened to him, and an annoyance, it made him angry, because Bruce could run away and escape his crimes, while Dick was stuck living them. When he did eventually see the man again, he was frozen to the spot with fear and anger and hate, but the moment passed, the man was only passing through. It was weeks before Bruce ate at the table with Dick again, something that was not unusual before the attack in the forbidden room, and by that time the boy's shame and hot emotions had been pushed down to a sizzling simmer, not enough to drive a child to cause a scene with the intimidating billionaire, when not a single one of the man's looks or movements indicated that he was even thinking about what he had done.

In the first few days after that night in the forbidden room, Dick kept questioning Alfred about the police, but the butler always replied that he would take care of it, if he made any reply at all. But nothing ever happened. Dick never left the manor, so he knew that no officers had come to the door, no press. Could it be that the city was so afraid of Bruce's money and influence that they wouldn't come to his door even to save a thirteen year old boy? As much as he wanted to believe in justice, Dick watched the news, and he knew that the police in Gotham were rumoured to be corrupt. Bruce had enough money to pay off every single law enforcement agent in the tri-state area, and the press as well, but surely, _surely_ there would be _someone_ who wanted to help him?

And so time passed. His injuries healed. The evidence was lost. Now it was just his word against that of the most powerful man in the city, and Dick stopped asking about justice. No help had ever come, and he felt abandoned. Alfred was the only one he could turn to.

Then one night, Dick was woken once again by Alfred's voice rousing him from the doorway of his bedroom.

"Master Dick, please get dressed."

It was all _too_ familiar, and suddenly it hadn't been weeks, but felt like only days, moments since he had been woken like this before, and sent to the den of a rapist. It felt like he had been transported in time to that same night, given a second chance to save himself.

The horror of it woke him in a second, and he was sitting up, adrenaline coursing through his veins like electrical current, his breathing coming fast.

"What do you mean?" he rasped out into the dark room, desperate for an answer, or no answer at all, just so long as it wasn't the thing he dreaded.

"Master Dick, please get dressed," the butler repeated, the faintest imploring tone in his voice.

"No... No, Alfred, no, not again, this can't be- You-" he was practically hyperventilating, as if his body knew it would be screaming soon and was frantically trying to gather the air it would need.

His eyes wide, he fought to get his panic under control but he couldn't, it ran away with him entirely, and he laid his hand on his chest as he tried not to black out.

A hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Master Dick," soothed the cool English voice as Alfred leant over him. "Do not worry. I will not allow harm to come to you."

The boy's breathing steadied, and he looked up at the older man, his features obscured by the dark. Alfred wouldn't lie to him, not outright like that.

"Really?" he asked, still uncertain.

"Yes. Everything will be alright. Now get dressed please."

Dick slid slowly to where his clothes lay on the floor and changed, staying sitting on the bed, his back to the butler. He didn't forget his shoes, remembering the shattered glass from last time. When he was ready, he walked over to where the butler stood by his open bedroom door, waiting.

"Alfred, I don't want to go," the boy said, his stomach twisting painfully, acidic.

The old man lay his hand on Dick's shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong, and he steered him out into the hallway. "It is alright, Master Dick, I will not let anything happen to you," he said. Dick laid his hand on top of the butler's, but all he could feel was the man's cotton glove.

"You won't leave me alone with him, will you? You'll stay with me?" Dick knew he sounded like a scared child, but walking towards the forbidden room down Wayne Manor's deserted and darkened corridors left no room for pride. He would have cried and begged for his mother, if she had been alive and able to answer.

"Yes, Master Dick, whatever you want," Alfred replied as tonelessly as ever.

It was a short journey to the door of the forbidden room, and as they stood outside, Dick put his hand behind him and gripped tightly to a fistful of the butler's trouser leg. Alfred's glove, as white and unstained as ever, flashed in the dark as he rapped neatly on the door.

"Enter." Bruce's dark black voice came clearly from inside the room, unmuffled by the wood and stone between them.

The butler reached around Dick to throw open the door.

"I've brought the boy, Sir," he informed the lightless vacuum before them. If Dick had been less terrified, less obsessed with detecting the danger before it struck, he might have paid more attention to the old man's strange words.

The hulking shadow of Bruce Wayne loomed out of the darkness towards them as if he was made of it.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said congenially, his voice playing the words as if they were pre-recorded, and he the instrument that neither felt nor understood them.

"Very good, Sir." The butler released his grip on Dick's shoulder, and suddenly the boy felt as if he had been pushed off a cliff, sent spinning through open air.

It was only when gloved hands prised his fingers from their hold on the man's trouser leg that Dick noticed anything. He spun around, appalled.

"Alfred? What-?"

The old man was already walking away, his back straight but not tense, his step brisk but unhurried.

"_Alfred_! _Wait_! You said, you said-!" His voice cracked in hysteria as he understood - or rather didn't understand - the depth of what had just happened. Alfred had left him with Bruce. Why? _Why_? He said he wouldn't, he said he'd be safe!

Strong, adult arms wrapped around him from behind, effortlessly lifting him into the forbidden room as he struggled and fought animalistically, clawing, scratching, kicking. He fought as if it was for his life, but he was always conquered. He ran and was chased, he hit and was beaten. Now that he knew what was at risk, he fought before Bruce pinned him, arming himself with loose objects in the study, but it was to no avail. Bruce dominated him anyway after he had been battered brutally, and his legs were torn open, and his body violated on the floor of the forbidden room. Each of his guardian's thrusts shaving more skin off his back as the man held his legs in his large hands and drove and plunged into the wet, bleeding wound between the boy's legs as the child screamed and clawed at the chest above him, blood running down at the join to form a warm, sticky puddle.

Bruce came, shooting viler liquids than blood into the boy, then just as the first time, he stood, covered himself, and left a traumatised, broken mess on the floor behind him.

Dick did not talk, nor did he move or even focus his eyes as Alfred returned, gathered the boy up in his arms and repeated the cleaning and patching up of the first night. When two white pills and some water were introduced to his mouth, he didn't fight. He was grateful for the narcotic oblivion; he'd take the whole bottle if he could.

The next day, he didn't try to get out of bed. When Alfred appeared, he didn't speak, or look at him. It was as if he was in a waking coma, but instead, he was thinking, meticulously picking apart every moment he had spent in Wayne Manor, looking for warnings, motivations, moralities.

Later, when the butler brought a tray with food, he suddenly found his exit blocked, the injured, haunted boy having sprung silently out of the bed and shut the door, setting himself in front of it.

Alfred cleared his throat, composing himself. "Ah, it is good to see you out of bed, young Master. Do you feel well enough to eat something?" the butler said cheerily, but it was fake, his eyes still staring at that point in the distance, or maybe it was the past. He hadn't looked Dick in the eye in weeks.

Dick didn't answer his question, instead he asked his own.

"Where are the police, Alfred?"

"The police, Master Dick? Right away, I shall take care of it, leave it to me," the old man said heartily, but again there was just that deathly pause, as if his words had to pass through to another world before they reached the boy's ears.

"Where are the police Alfred?" the boy asked again, as if on a loop beyond his control. But then, mercifully or perhaps cruelly, he spoke some more. "You said you would call them. Why aren't they here yet?"

Alfred collected himself. "Now, now, enough of this nonsense. You should be in bed," he said, marching forward. He meant to push Dick out of the way, but before he touched him, the boy spoke again.

"You didn't call them, did you? Not after last night, not after the first night, you never called them. You were never going to, were you? You never intended to, even after all you said to me..."

Wild green eyes, glinting with barely restrained anger, half-insane with the injustice of it all, were looking at him, _staring_ at him, compelling him to answer as if they would pull the words out of him by force. The butler sighed through his nose, and Dick thought he saw the pretence go with the man's breath, deflating like a hot air balloon snagged on a tree top. Then, for the first time in weeks, the man looked at him – really looked at him, levelled those brown eyes on his without anything in between, not even affection.

"It is not my place," he said coldly.

The words were so simple, yet carried so much meaning, so many implications. The truth of them hit Dick like a wrecking ball, taking out his foundation, making him sway and collapse to the side, leaving the door free for the butler to sweep out of, leaving him alone.

_It is not my place_

That made it all so clear. Alfred's loyalty was to one man only, and that was Bruce Wayne, last surviving heir to the Wayne household. Nothing, not morals, not a boy's innocence, not public opinion or social conventions, _nothing_ could make him deviate from serving his master. If Bruce Wayne wanted to viciously rape a child, then Alfred would bring the boy to his door, and clean him up afterwards, stitch him back together, ready for next time.

Everything Alfred had ever told Dick was a lie, a deception. He would not help him. He would not call the police. He would sell his soul to serve his master. Dick was completely alone, only now realising that he was a victim of both men. An object, a toy, he was not a person to either of them.

Maybe Alfred did feel affection for the boy, maybe he didn't approve of what was being done to him, and wished he could do something, but none of that mattered. He lived for Bruce Wayne, no matter what, and would never act against him.

The reality of that, and the repercussions of it crashed down on Dick. He was alone. He always had been. Nobody was ever going to help him, because nobody else knew he was even _there_. It was going to continue. He couldn't escape, he would have to live there until he was eighteen, being raped and abused and beaten for five years. Dick lay his head on the carpet, his eyes wide.

Bruce Wayne _owned_ him, just like everything else in the whole cursed city.

* * *

"No. No. Not again, no, this can't be happening, it can't be-"

"How can you do this? Who the hell do you think you are? You think just because you've got money- _I'll kill you for this_!"

"Please, don't do this... Please.... I'll do anything, anything you want, just please don't do this to me, not again... I'll be good, I'll be a good boy, you'll see... I'll do anything..."

"Oh God, why? I can't..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Alfred."

"Yes, Sir."

"..."

**Author's Note: **T~T Just a little extra note to point out my brilliance, what Dick is saying up there (and it is Dick speaking, until Bruce and Alfred come in, and the ...s represent silences) follows the Five Stages of Grief, ie, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and finally the silence is Acceptance, and I put several of those in to give... rhythm, if you know what I mean ;)


	17. The Abandoned Boy

Chapter 14: The Abandoned Boy

Dick felt his heartbeat quicken with fear as he stepped inside the expensive car. Ms Dominatrix uttered the required "Good afternoon", but when the boy ignored her, there was a slight pause, as if she was puzzled by Dick's lack of response. However, talking would hardly be part of her job description, so she didn't react, her long eyelashes lowering slightly as she focused instead on the road in front of her. Soon they were making their way through the busy traffic of Gotham's rainy streets, and in the quiet Dick felt panicked hysteria growing inside himself. He reached for his bag and quickly took out that dreaded piece of paper. He stared at his name on the front and then his eyes shifted to the red numbers next to it, small and unclear as if they too were dreading Bruce Wayne's judgment

Forty-two percent.

FORTY-TWO PERCENT.

He put it back inside, making sure it was not crumpled amongst the papers and textbooks and then he leaned against the bullet-proof glass, the tinted windows hiding the human features of the city's inhabitants from his desperate eyes. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Could we stop somewhere for a while? I don't feel so good."

He was surprised at how calm his voice came out, as opposed to how frightened he truly felt. He could see the woman's head move slightly, as if she wanted to turn but changed her mind at the last second. He wondered what she was thinking. He doubted that she wouldn't let him out of the car if he requested, but some small, paranoid part of him insisted that even if he threw up right then and there she would not let him leave.

He was trapped. Until they reached Wayne Manor. Until he was given to another guardian. Until his rich master would call on him in the middle of the night and use him for his disgusting purposes. And then, the next day, the same.

Dick glared at his reflection in the glass. So melodramatic. There was no reason Ms Dominatrix wouldn't let him out of the car. He was not a prisoner.

"We will reach the manor soon."

He blinked at the woman's response.

"Yes, but I need to get out now. I need some fresh air. It will be only a minute."

"I can open the window for you, if you'd like."

Dick's eyes widened at her response and that paranoid little part suddenly took over. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

"No, I want you to stop. NOW."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. We will reach the manor in about ten minutes. Just make yourself comfortable until then."

Her voice was professional and completely emotionless and it was perhaps this fact that made Dick's fears multiply tenfold. He could not believe this. She was keeping him in the car against his own will. Like… like kidnapping or something. Wasn't this against the law? You couldn't do this!

"I need to throw up. Do you want me to do it inside this car?" he responded with a loud voice and straightened himself up on the seat. His hands were no longer shaking; instead they were clenched, pressing against the leather seat in anger. He didn't feel sick anymore but that was not the point, he NEEDED to get out of the car just to prove that he could. The woman's refusal terrified him.

"Do not worry about the condition of the car. Mr. Wayne is perfectly capable of hiring a cleaner."

Dick stared at her in shock. This lasted for about four seconds and then he was reaching for her shoulder with an angry face.

"Stop the car NOW. STOP!"

"According to Mr. Wayne's ord-"

"I don't care! STOP THE CAR!"

"Please, calm dow-"

Both of them flinched in shock at the loud crashing noise coming from outside. Still clutching the woman's shoulder, Dick turned to look in the general direction of the noise. It sounded like an explosion, but how was that possible?

"What was that?" he asked in a tight voice, slowly letting go of Ms Dominatrix's bony shoulder. He briefly wondered if a car had crashed somewhere nearby but the blast sounded too powerful, more like a bomb than anything else. But he couldn't be sure - the sound came from a few blocks away, so it was dampened by the tall buildings separating them.

His driver appeared to be confused as well. Pressing a button, one of the front windows rolled down and she leaned out, head and shoulders out of the car. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Dick put one hand onto the passenger seat and hopped over to the front with circus grace. Having a slightly better view now, he noticed smoke stretching up into the sky. So it _was_ an explosion after all. A terrorist attack? No, it was most likely the Joker. Dick followed the news about Batman religiously, and Joker's escape from Arkham Asylum had been reported only two days ago. He must have been looking for revenge.

Dick found himself curious and worried, wondering about the people inside the building, witnesses, hostages… Was Batman not able to prevent the explosion? Or perhaps he was amongst the injured as well… No, the explosion itself was probably an extreme way to lure him in, and all the people were just tools in Joker's hands. Dick looked away from the smoke in disgust, dark thoughts about the selfishness and cruelty of the criminal element swirling bitterly in his head. It shouldn't be allowed. They had to be stopped. _At least Batman's trying to do something about it_, he thought.

He was suddenly eager to get back to the Manor and check the news.

Ms Dominatrix turned away from the window, raising her sharp eyebrows in surprise upon finding Dick sitting next to her. The boy shrugged and looked away.

"Just drive," he ordered.

Getting out of the car didn't matter to him anymore. The woman was only doing her job and none of this was her fault; he felt stupid about shouting at her before, reacting like a child. Here he was, worrying about obeying orders when countless people out there probably just lost their lives. He got a bad mark. He will be punished. He will move on.

He went through this process so many times.

_After all, _the boy thought as he heard the police sirens wailing in the distance, his mind already focused on Joker's newest antics. _What's the worst that Bruce can do to me at this point? There's nothing left._

But there was.

_There was_.

"- at around 4:45 inside the central Police station. The evacuation of the personnel was successful, however twelve people were left trapped in the building as hostages, seven of them are now known to be dead and five are in critical condition. The witnesses state that Batman was involved in the incident and that he assisted in the evacuation; but there was no sign of him or the Joker when the police arrived at the scene. The state of the-"

"Joker…"

Dick mumbled softly, staring at the huge plasma screen in front of him with an intense look. He took off his tie and threw it on the bed, the crisp white shirt following right after. The sun bathed the bedroom in an orange glow as it set, and the clock on the wall announced it was exactly seven o'clock, time for Alfred to knock on his door, time for dinner.

"- information. The investigation is still in process and Officer Gordon has not yet-"

Stripped to the waist, Dick refocused on the TV and changed the channel, but it was all the same; no sign of Batman or Joker, Police station blown up, people burned or already dead… It had been like that for hours. He wondered perhaps if it was not over yet, if Joker planned another trap, but of course those were all just thoughts and speculations, Dick had no way of knowing, and it frustrated him.

The boy glanced at the closed bedroom door uncertainly, but he already knew the dining hall was empty - he had been to check ten minutes ago, and the table hadn't been set, and there was no smell of food coming from the kitchen. In fact, it seemed as if the whole manor was completely empty, and it gave Dick a feeling of approaching danger, of foreboding… It was one thing if Bruce didn't show, but Alfred had always been an ever-present force.

Not knowing what to do, the boy stayed in his room and waited. He sat down on the bed and turned off the TV, the evening news had been replaced by a drink commercial with a person that was probably famous; Dick didn't know much about celebrities anymore, all he knew about these days was who was who in the business community, that was the stuff he needed to know to fit in his _new_ life.

He was hungry but he didn't want to take anything from the kitchen. If it had been any other day, he would have had no problem stealing something behind Alfred's back, but the paper in his schoolbag made him too nervous, too uptight. He would probably not have any appetite after Bruce was done with him anyway.

Dick glanced at the sunset, glaring because of the light and then stood up, reaching for his school bag again. He should study - no, he really NEEDS to study, and his marks have to get better so that this doesn't repeat itself.

When he looked at the clock for a second time, it was already eight-thirty. He closed the book and put it on the table and turned the TV on again. No fresh news of Joker or Batman. It seemed that Orwen was giving another speech, trying to win some votes on the back of dead cops. Dick knew he should watch it for school, but it was as if the politician's words didn't reach him at all, the man was talking but Dick was not listening. The man was a world away. He turned off the TV and lowered himself onto the ground to start some stretches. He would need to stay fit for the gymnastics club after all, and the familiar routine calmed him down.

Gymnastics club…

He smiled.

He thought about Richard as he exercised. He thought about Richard and the way he smiled at him across the table during their lunch period, the way his eyes narrowed when he stared McTravis down, his tense shoulders hiding him, almost protecting him from the older boy's cruel eyes. He remembered the comment McTravis had made about his brother and vowed to be the one sending the bully packing when anything like the incident at the cafe happened again. His smile slipped when he realized that he was rather fond of his new friend. Something told him that it could be dangerous.

It was nine-fifteen when he finished his exercises. He still had not heard any cars from outside and the manor was silent, as usual. It was then that Dick started to truly worry. Maybe there was really something wrong? Or perhaps Bruce had needed Alfred for something important?

He looked at his bag again, considering. He had a cell phone, something Bruce made him carry in case of emergencies, and probably to make sure the boy was always within reach, he suspected. But he never used it, and when he took it out, it felt alien and delicate in his clumsy hands. Bruce had told him he should call if ever there was something wrong, probably anticipating something like the _Gotham Gossip_ exclusive, or worse, but did this situation count as 'something wrong'? Nothing _bad_ was happening to him in the manor, and presumably Bruce _knew_ he was alone, since the master always knew where his butler was, and Alfred would only leave the house on Bruce's orders. If they hadn't wanted him to be by himself, they would have made provisions for him with his driver. Sure, a regular kid left by his parents to come home to an empty house with no explanation would naturally call them to check the situation, but Bruce and his butler were _not_ his parents, and if Dick had learned anything in living there for so long, it was that 'normal' played no role in Wayne Manor.

Nevertheless, Dick still toyed with the idea of calling one of them. He was hungry, and night had fallen. Maybe he'd missed a message somewhere. Or maybe he was being punished, or just played with. It wouldn't surprise him, and it wouldn't surprise him if the men merely hadn't thought the boy important enough to keep informed.  
It took Dick some time to get used to the touch-screen system and he fumbled with it, finally stopping at the address book where only two names blinked back at him back from the screen. Alfred and Bruce. Bruce. _Bruce_.

Something about the fact that it was the man's first name in the phone rubbed him the wrong way. Of course it would be silly to put in 'Wayne'. Dick never called him that. But this… this _Bruce… _it felt too intimate, condescending, and it made Dick impulsively want to delete it right away. Delete the number like he wanted to delete the man.

**DELETE?  
**_**Bruce**_

**YES NO**

Angrily he cancelled the action and threw the phone down on the bed.

He wouldn't call. It wasn't any of his business what Bruce and Alfred were up to. He should be grateful that they were gone. With that line of thought, Dick thrust the phone back into his bag and made his way to the bathroom, determined not to think about it anymore. However as he took the rest of his clothes off and stepped into the shower, the uneasy feeling in his chest grew steadily worse, until an ugly mix of suspicion and paranoia soured his mood and he decided that he couldn't take any more of it.

_At this point I would rather just be punished already,_ Dick thought and closed his eyes under the steady flow of hot water. _Anything is better than stressing about it like this._

Picking up the shower gel, he started to rub it mechanically across his skin, staring at the slim black bottle of shampoo standing on the small shelf in front of him. The words _Armani Code_ were staring back at him as if these two words promised to be the answer to all his troubles.

_I should do something while they're out, something crazy, _he thought to himself, his mind urging him to mess up his cage and destroy it from the inside. _I should. I really should_.

When he stepped out, the shower automatically turned itself off, and Dick snatched one of the towels on the side, only to throw it contemptuously on the floor moments after and walk away.

_I will._

Leaving a puddle of water in his wake, Dick didn't bother to dry off and quickly grabbed a random combination of clothes he found in his closet. Putting them on was a fumbled process full of sleeves sticking on wet skin, and he left his room with the steady but hurried steps of someone who knows exactly where they're going.

The boy's steps got gradually faster and faster until he was practically running. His breaths echoed in the empty corridors of the mansion and his mind whispered out of reflex, _No running indoors, _but without the manor's master or his butler, the order turned into mere words that held no power over him. _Second floor is Bruce's territory. No wandering allowed_, teased his own mental voice.

Dick continued running, his bare feet soundless on the carpet, and he paid no attention to his now soaked-through shirt or messy, dripping wet hair which stuck to his neck. The further he got, the more alarms in his head he activated. _This is Bruce's personal space. That's Bruce's office right there. This is one of his bathrooms. This is-_

The sound of a door closing.

He stopped. _Was that…?_

Dick froze and quietly listened.

It couldn't have been. He must have imagined it. He would have known if Alfred or Bruce had returned - he would have seen the cars and he knew for sure that the only entrance to the mansion was from the front. His bedroom was a strategic point in that aspect, its view allowed him to see who entered or left Wayne Manor at all times. So logically it was not possible.

He must have imagined it.

Slowly, his body started moving again as if waking from a deep sleep. One step, two steps… and the boy was nearing the corridor that would lead him to his guardian's bedroom. His eyes widened, as if they would help him to see sounds as well in the dark, and all was quiet for a little while until-

Footsteps.

Dick's breath shook as he took a few panicked steps backwards. He had made a mistake. He had made a terrible mistake. He was definitely not alone, there was probably another way in he didn't know about and Alfred or even Bruce (_Oh God, don't let it be Bruce, please_) would catch him in the part of the mansion that was off limits to him.

What was he even thinking? Wanting to break into Bruce's bedroom - what did he expect to find in there? It was obvious to the boy now that he hadn't been thinking clearly before; this was crazy and if he was caught, his punishment for the test would be even worse.

He tried to quietly leave but it was already too late. There was a movement in the shadows and a silhouette of a man took form from the darkness. This was it. The end. The figure at the end of the corridor had probably already seen him and running away at this point was useless. Instead, Dick stood still and stared at the ground as the man who he could now identify as Alfred came closer to him.

"Master Dick, you should not be here."

The voice was cold, colder than usual, and Dick could sense there was something amiss. He studied Alfred's face for any clues or signs but it was as clear and professional as ever. He tried to think of a good excuse but instead all that came out of his lips was a soft "I… I was worried."

His eyes dropped down until they rested on Alfred's feet and perhaps it was a trick of the light but he saw something red on them. He couldn't see well in the unlit corridor anyway.

"You should go back to you room, Master Dick. You have nothing to worry about."

Dick looked closer and inspected Alfred once again, this time paying more attention to details. His hair was slightly ruffled which was an oddity in itself, and there was thin sheet of sweat on his face, an exhausted look in his eyes. The old man wasn't wearing his jacket either, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Confused, Dick inspected the uniform and his eyes widened at the sight of the butler's previously hidden hands.

"Alfred! Is that… blood? Are you hurt?"

"As I said before, everything is fine."

"What's wrong with your hands? Ah, it's everywhere!"

Dick couldn't believe how he had missed it before; even in the darkness of the corridor, the blood on the butler's clothes seemed almost to glow. It centered around his hands, from his palms up to his elbows, little droplets on his trousers and shoes, and a big red stain on the front of his uniform, as if …as if he had recently carried something that was _bleeding_.

"Where's Bruce?" Dick asked immediately, and by the stiffening of Alfred's shoulders he could tell his suspicions were correct. Bruce was injured and it looked like his butler had been summoned to patch him up. But this was not nursing Dick's injuries after a session in the Forbidden room, for Bruce to lose such a large amount of blood…

"He's here, isn't he? In his bedroom." The boy added, and when he looked around the old man's shoulder he saw a faint light coming from the room at the end of the corridor. The door was slightly ajar and Dick wondered if Bruce could hear their conversation. Maybe he was passed out from losing all that blood. What was going on?

"Why isn't he in the hospital?"

"You don't need to worry yourself-"

"Why isn't he in the hospital, Alfred? What, what's going on here? Is it serious? I mean, how did it happen?"

Then, as if catching glimpses of a distant memory, Dick remembered the sounds of an explosion and panic, the news talking about Joker and Batman and the casualties of the attack on-

"The police station! It was the attack on the police station, wasn't it?"

At this point, Alfred already had a firm grip on the boy's shoulder and was pushing him down the corridor, away from the half-opened door and the injured master of the house. Dick struggled and he himself didn't know why; was he worried about Bruce? How ridiculous. If anything, he was hoping the man would end up dead and atone for all his sins by dying painfully in his big mansion all on his own.

Or did he?

No, maybe he wanted Bruce to suffer some more, or better yet, die by his Dick's own hand. Although it was hard, Dick never forgot himself in the madness of his new life and he knew that Bruce would get what he deserved one day…

But no, no, his parents would never want him to become a murderer or ruin his life by seeking foolish revenge. They wouldn't want him to become a criminal. They would want him to be able to smile and be the old Dick Grayson again, and carry on their legacy in the circus world. And in four more years he would do exactly that - start all over again, a clean slate, a new beginning, no more expensive parties, dirty secrets, rich schools, forceful hands or orders to follow. No, there wouldn't be any more Bruce Wayne in his future and if he heard that name again he would pretend he had never met the man. He would change his identity if he had to (although he would like to keep his last connection to the Grayson family).

But if Bruce was dying, if he was in _pain_, then the boy wanted to see it with his own eyes, make sure, _remember_ it. If the seemingly all-powerful, untouchable Bruce Wayne could be hurt, then his victim could hope.

Alfred's bloody hand left a mark on his wet t-shirt and dirtied his clothes during the struggle. Dick didn't understand what was so important that made the normally professional butler get so worked up. Was he worried he would attack Bruce? And why wasn't the man in a hospital?

"Alfred. Let him go."

Both of them turned at the same time and Dick could feel Alfred's hand tighten suddenly on his arm. He blinked the water droplets from his eyelashes and glanced at the owner of the voice. Everything was still.

He was right. Bruce probably heard the whole thing.

The man was leaning against the doorframe and the first thing that Dick noticed were the bandages on his chest, along with numerous cuts and bruises on the rest of his body. He had a nasty looking bruise on one of his cheekbones and his eyes had heavy bags under them, making him look exhausted and extremely pale. The bandages traveled from his bare chest to one of his arms and down to the side of his stomach. He leaned away from the door and glanced at Dick with dark eyes, as if to prove that even in his injured state he was still more powerful than his ward.

When the boy looked back at the butler again he was as professional as ever, his bloody hands clasped behind his back in the universal pose of an obedient servant awaiting instruction. Looking down at himself, Dick grimaced when he saw the mix of water and blood on his clothes. He brushed the wet bangs away from his forehead and looked back at Bruce.

"Come in," the man said, and disappeared behind the door. Dick's eyes widened at his guardian's words but he knew better than to disobey.

He had never been inside Bruce's bedroom before. It was a place that was completely off-limits to him. He suspected that the man had a few secrets hidden in there that he didn't want his young ward to find, but now Dick was being invited there himself, his whole theory fell apart.

He looked back at Alfred but the old man was already walking away, deliberately not meeting the scared green eyes, but the boy had expected this, really. He quietly walked down the corridor and stepped through the opened door.

Maybe this was perfect. Maybe the fact that Bruce was injured would make the punishment bearable, or eliminate it completely. Maybe luck was on his side for once and he would walk away from this room completely unharmed… untouched even. Bruce probably had other things on his mind at the moment. He was exhausted, there was no possible way…

"Close the door," ordered the voice, more gentle than usual.

Dick obeyed.


	18. The Bad Boy, Punished

Chapter Eighteen: The Bad Boy, Punished

Bruce's bedroom wasn't quite what he expected.

It was hard to say what he imagined, really. Since the master's bedroom was probably the most important room in the whole mansion, Dick imagined it to be very glamorous and aristocratic; something straight out of a designer magazine with obnoxious curtains and expensive lamps. He was rather surprised at how down-to-earth the real thing turned out to be.

The bedroom was slightly bigger than Dick's own and had big spacious windows that faced the more boring part of the back garden. There was a big television screen embedded in one of the walls and a silver laptop atop the medium-sized desk in the corner that was facing a big wooden wardrobe by the door.

It was all just so… _bare_, for lack of a better word. Looking around made Dick feel like there was something missing, things in this room did not go together like in the rest of the mansion. There was nothing to look at, really. It seemed like the man spent hardly any time in the room.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the bedroom was the giant bed at the back, and Dick felt cold dread settle in his stomach at the sight of it. The bed was bigger than his own, it was the biggest he had ever seen and looked like a priceless antique, perhaps once belonging to a king or an emperor. Its lavish wooden design looked out of place in the bare room and Dick wondered about the history behind the piece of furniture and if there was a reason why Bruce insisted on using it.

He didn't want to be caught looking at the bed so he tore his eyes away and faced the master of the mansion. Bruce was looking at him with curious eyes.

"Why are you wet?"

There was something different in his voice that Dick couldn't put his finger on. It was lower, or maybe softer? As if also surprised by his tone, Bruce straightened his shoulders and took a few steps towards the dark window. The boy immediately noticed a slight limp.

He ran a hand through his wet hair.

"I… I took a shower."

He could see his master's reflection in the window and their eyes met on the spotless glass. Dick broke away first and lowered his gaze uncomfortably, taking a few steps to the left and immediately returning back when he realized he was nearing the bed. His throat was dry and his heart started beating in a familiar, panicky rhythm that started whenever the tall man came near. Bruce terrified him.

He could still remember the horrible aftermath of the first night in the Forbidden room. He was full of bitterness, pain, shock, despair… He thought he would never be able to recover from that one traumatic incident that changed his whole life. If somebody told him about his future in Wayne Manor, told him that the painful night would not only repeat itself but become a regular occurrence every week, every month, for a _whole year_ he would not have believed them. He would probably think something along the lines of '_Surely, there is no way I could function_' or '_I would not be able to speak or eat or move…_'.

When he thought about it, Dick was amazed at the human ability to adapt. He thought he would never get used to the idea of his parent's death… he thought that Bruce's violation would make his whole world stop and come crashing down… he thought that living in this place until he turned eighteen was physically and mentally impossible for him…

And yet here he was. He'd survived it all.

He was like a man who woke up and realized one of his legs was gone, thinking _I can't live my_ _life like this, it's impossible._ And yet he had got used to Bruce's routine, didn't he? Slowly, day by day, he forced himself to walk forward and face his new world, his limb lost forever never to return, but his shock was gradually being replaced by a very basic need to survive. He adapted.

Each night Bruce's hands took something from his heart - big pieces at first, bigger than his hand but as the time went by they became smaller and smaller because there was simply nothing left in his chest anymore. Dick was glad for that fact, although slightly scared of what would happen to him when Bruce had taken everything and he was left with emptiness. Or was he already past that point? It was hard to tell, standing in Bruce's bedroom like this… If he still had something to lose, he couldn't feel it.

This thought gave the boy courage and he straightened up and took two quick steps towards his guardian. He had nothing to lose. He was prepared for everything Bruce might do to him. He was invincible in his wretchedness.

He decided to go straight to the point.

"My teacher wants you to sign my test so that you know about my progress."

He looked the man straight in the eye as he turned around. His heart was surprisingly calm.

"I didn't do very well. I got forty-two percent."

Dick offered no excuse. He didn't tell Bruce that the mark didn't count towards his final score or that it was a surprise test. That would only make it seem like he was afraid of his guardian and besides, Bruce never really cared much for excuses. Dick watched the dark eyes intently, trying to guess the man's reaction. His expression seemed surprised, as if he hadn't expected Dick to talk to him that way.

"What subject?" he asked silently. Dick didn't move at all, he stood completely still as Bruce made his way towards the center of the room and looked down at him. They were standing very close now, not touching but close enough so that Dick could see all the details of the scars on the man's chest. A lot of them seemed like old battle-scars and he could count at least two that resembled bullet wounds. But that couldn't be the case, surely not. If someone shot Bruce Wayne, it would be all over Gotham in a matter of minutes.

Maybe they were from the incident with his parents? Perhaps he was shot as well as his parents and Bruce was the only one who survived. He had trouble imagining his guardian as a child and in some way he found the image scary; once upon a time Bruce was a young boy like him, walking the same empty corridors that belonged to his dead parents… He once saw a picture of Bruce as a little boy when he arrived in the manor. Alfred had mentioned how the two of them were alike but it wasn't until he showed him some photos that Dick realized what the butler was talking about.

From certain angles they could have passed for twins. Bruce had a different haircut as a child but if both of them were arranged the same way and stood next to each other they would look eerily similar. It was only when one looked at their faces more closely that the difference showed; Bruce's lips had a different shape, Dick's eyebrows were more sharp and his nose slightly longer, both of them with different eye color and shape. He used to think their similar looks were a good thing; that perhaps Bruce was meant to adopt him because they had some kind of a connection.

Then after the first night in the Forbidden room he changed his mind; there was no connection, no fate, nothing. Bruce simply needed a toy to play around with and Dick was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But lately he started to think about the similarities between him and his guardian from a different perspective. Both of them lost their parents at a young age, left to grow up in this cold mansion only with a butler for company. When Dick remembered the photos, he felt like there was a reason why the two of them looked so alike. There was a reason why Bruce adopted him. There was a reason why he did those things to him; not _despite_ his likeness but _because_ of it.

He tried to focus on answering the question.

"Macro-economics." He replied mechanically and stared at the bandaged chest in front of him with an unfeeling gaze. A part of him was curious about the man's reaction while the rest didn't want him to speak at all. He didn't want to know what Bruce had to say and he absolutely hated when his guardian put on the whole 'concerned father' act. Sometimes it sounded too genuine for it to be fake and Dick could not stand it.

He silently waited for his judgment.

The boy blinked in confusion when he felt a weight settle on the top of his head and realized that it was Bruce's hand. He thought back towards the party he was forced to attend last week and his guardian's confused eyes as he touched him in this way; awkward and unsure.

The touch was purely platonic and Dick felt a part of him open up as the man's fingers ran through the wet hair, smooth and comforting. It was the part that was lonely and starved for affection, it was the part that hoped Bruce would notice him as something more than a forbidden disgusting thing, acknowledge him as his son and ask him about his day, his experiences and opinions. It was the part of him that was childish and wretched, the part that wanted to replace his parents and be loved by this man because he was lonely and yearned to care and be cared for once again.

The treacherous part of him. The weakness.

When was the last time he was touched like this? So softly? The touch of an adult was a powerful thing and Dick felt his eyes close by themselves, starved for affection that was no longer there after his parents were so brutally taken from him. Bruce never touched him like this, he was always full of harshness and cold force; I want you to do this and do it this way and I will not be denied. His words were sometimes gentle and soft but Dick could not make himself believe them; all lies, to manipulate him and make that bastard feel better.

But being touched like this, it was like a fresh drink of water after years of thirst and unbearable heat. The hand caressing his scalp moved through his locks and droplets of water in careful, unsure movements like a small boy petting an animal for a first time. He opened his eyes, suddenly wanting to see his guardian's face and try to guess what the injured man was thinking, see why he was doing this cruel thing.

But when he tried to lift his head to take a look, the hand in his hair suddenly turned harsh and brutally yanked it down, not allowing the eye contact. Feeling the heavy crush of disappointment, Dick wondered what kind of a face Bruce was making that he didn't want his ward to see. He felt oddly betrayed but kept his head down, no longer wanting the soft touch or gentle fingers. A hollow sensation washed over him, not of helplessness but a kind of dry regret; a sorrow that Bruce would never be what he wanted him to be. He kept his head down until the brutish fingers slowly loosened and the warm touch of the hand was completely gone.

"You are an intelligent boy, Dick." Bruce stated and started to slowly walk away from him, the white of his bandages shining in the bare room. Dick noticed a few more bruises and old wounds on the man's back; it was ingenious how he could hide this strong yet damaged body behind designer suits and shirts.

To Dick he looked like a former soldier or a warrior, a body full of muscles that was trained for physical combat. It didn't fit with his guardian's playboy persona or even his silent broody personality and for the first time Dick realized that despite living with him for more than a year, he didn't really _know_ Bruce Wayne. The face he showed to him in the manor might be just another mask while the real thing was still safely hidden away.

This angered him for some reason.

"You scored well above average in all the IQ tests you went through at the beginning of the year. I understand that all of this is still new to you but…"

Dick looked back down at the carpet and glared in anger. '_How dare you lecture me! HOW DARE YOU?_' but his mouth never opened and all he did was listen obediently. It was easier this way. He was tired of talking with Bruce anyhow, there was very little to say and only little more to wait until he received his punishment, whatever it would be. If he tried hard enough, he would be able to detach himself when the time came and besides, wasn't this better than all that waiting and confusion he was subjected to earlier that day?

He waited for the man to finish his sentence, suddenly getting an anxious feeling that something bad was going to happen soon. He didn't know what; he thought he knew when he stepped into the room, he thought he knew what to expect from Bruce when he told him about the test ,but he wasn't so sure anymore. The soft tone, hand in his hair, hidden eyes… it was as if there was something ominous beneath it all, like a broken bone ready to pierce through the sheathing skin that looked ordinary on the outside.

Maybe it was all caused by the police station attack somehow? A post traumatic behavior…

'_But this isn't the first time I've seen him like this…There were glimpses of that expression in the past…some of the things he said…'_

He forced himself not to look up at the man and continued staring at the carpet, standing like a soldier at attention, shoulders straight and unbearably tense.

"You are perfectly capable to keep up with your classmates, Dick .In fact, your math teacher's notes say that you are at the top of the class and able to skip to the advanced section right away. Your last exam in Micro-economics was 82 percent, 79 before that and 66 percent last month. You seem to be moving steadily towards the top and yet… you always go and do something like this."

Dick's eyes widened at shock when he heard the numbers and he couldn't help himself, he glanced on the man at the other side of the room with burning curiosity. Bruce was standing by the bed, his bandaged back turned towards him as if he was shielding something and Dick stared at the dark figure in confusion.

He knew that Bruce was informed about his progress in school, every month Allen Bex Academy sends reports to the parents to inform them about their kids. But he didn't expect his guardian to really remember the numbers, this was crazy, who remembers all this stuff? He always thought that Bruce just looked briefly through the reports, making sure that none of it was _too_ out of line and then went on about his business.

"Are you doing it on purpose?"

Dick took an angry step forward.

"NO!"

Bruce turned around to face him immediately and Dick's eyes latched onto his; for some reason it was very important that Bruce knew he didn't fail the test on purpose. Suddenly ashamed of his little outburst, the fourteen year old took a single step back to his original position and repeated himself with a quieter tone.

"No, I'm… it's not on purpose."

Bruce didn't reply. His eyes pierced him from across the room and Dick found himself unable to look away, a prisoner to the intense stare. He never knew what his guardian was thinking; sometimes it seemed as if he belonged to a completely different species of animals that had an alien thinking process he would never be able to follow. When he compared himself with Bruce it was hard to believe they were even the same gender; the man towering over him, impossibly tall and big, it was as if he was _consumed_ by him, losing his own identity in the process. He was a field mouse being eyed by a hawk.

He stood up straight against the intense stare and looked down at the carpet again, uneasy.

There was a soft sigh from Bruce.

"You really are drenched."

Sudden movement and footsteps, the sound of door opening and Bruce was exiting the bathroom holding a white towel, making Dick marvel at how an injured man could move so quickly. Instead of handing it over to his ward he walked back to the other side and sat himself down on the antique bed. Dick felt his heartbeat increase almost immediately.

"Take off your shirt, it's completely wet."

The boy obeyed after a small pause.

His fingers trembled as they grabbed the collar but he calmed down halfway through the process and successfully took off the wet shirt. His tried not to think about how this was all different from the usual routine or how Bruce hardly ever cared about his well-being in these kinds of circumstances.

He waited for further instructions, knowing they would come eventually. He wondered if he should obey them or put up a fight; sometimes it seemed like it didn't even make a difference. He remembered the night he let Bruce do anything he wanted, the night he gained his chance to join the gymnastics team and lost something else as a result. His pride? His position as a victim? His morality?

He wondered if all those things were really there to begin with.

"Come, you're freezing."

He _was_ cold. Dick walked over to the large bed and purposely kept his eyes averted and aloof. A part of him wondered what Bruce was playing at, bothering with this shit. The rest just wanted to get it over and done with.

The touch of the towel on his skin was a surprise even though he should have expected it. Bruce started with his hair and toweled the wet locks with firm and efficient movements. After he got over the initial surprise, Dick moved slightly away; not quite a flinch but enough to show he was uncomfortable. The careless ruffling of the towel over his ears was disorientating.

"I can do it myself," he mumbled with an embarrassed voice. What was Bruce doing?

"I know," the man replied and continued his strange task. Dick sent him a dark look but Bruce was not meeting his gaze anymore, instead focused on the toweling. After a while Dick got used to the motion and he stayed very still as Bruce moved from his head to his shoulders with the soft towel.

"Are your injuries bad?"

There was a slight hesitation, almost unnoticeable and then the towel started moving again. Dick kept looking at the hands in his lap, useless and wet.

"It's nothing too bad."

Dick wanted to respond with another question but found himself unable to speak. It was always like this with Bruce -their conversations vague, cold, as if separated into little parts that had very little to do with each other.

He was already dry but Bruce did not stop. He didn't say anything anymore, recognizing this as a beginning of some sort of a new type of punishment; he didn't know what Bruce was thinking but was too tired to care.

Slowly, the towel was dropped and all that was left were Bruce's hands, naked and large going through his hair, neck, down his shoulder and chest with soft strokes. Dick immediately tensed up at the strange sensation and felt chills run up and down his spine violently.

"What are you doing?"

Again, there was no response, only an order.

"Kneel on the bed."

He took two deep breaths and counted to five. Then he turned around and climbed atop the giant bed, kneeling as if in a prayer. Bruce shifted to face him better and moved closer until they were nearly touching; Bruce's face now slightly lower than Dick's tense one. He could feel the man's warm breath on his neck.

Like before, he started with the hair. He took the strands into both of his fingers and brushed them back with one single stroke. Then he brushed away the damp fringe from the forehead and moved his hands down the boy's cheeks and neck. Dick felt like his heart was going to stop beating any second and the shivers from before multiplied tenfold until he could hardly stay kneeling.

What was Bruce doing? This wasn't making any sense!

The man's face was unbearably close to his and for a second Dick thought he was going to get kissed. The idea of Bruce Wayne kissing him was so alien, so strange, so utterly unthinkable that he immediately rejected the thought; despite all the forced intimacies he was subjected to over the past year, kissing somehow seemed too raw and personal to the kneeling boy.

The naked hands traveled down his arms in light strokes and Dick forced himself to look everywhere but at the man sitting in front of him. This part of Bruce was new to him, dangerous in a different way and the boy wondered if this is how the Wayne heir dealt with all of his girlfriends and random flings; was he watching them the same way he was watching his face now? Were these unwelcome touches as soft and pleasant as when he used it on their feminine shapes?

Dick could feel his breath quicken when the man's nails softly trailed down the side of his rib and he felt himself reddening in humiliation, first his cheeks, then his ears, slowly moving down his neck as if the body itself wanted to follow the man's hands with a path of red.

He wished Bruce wasn't watching him so closely. He never felt so overexposed and naked his whole life yet shame wasn't the only sensation that was rising to the surface. The feeling he thought was ruined forever because of this very man, the feeling he found himself lacking ever since he arrived at this place, the feeling that visited him in the middle of his dreams as rarely as a good night's rest…

Desire.

He couldn't believe it.

With something akin to horror, Dick realized that his body started responding to the light touches, hypersensitive to the caress when all it knew in the past was violence or cold indifference. One of Bruce's hands was caressing his chest, not paying attention to any particular spot but Dick was painfully aware of each time the warm fingers brushed along his nipple and his throat was dry with panic and something primitive and painful.

He thought about running away, putting up a fight and ending this terrifying experience but he knew that wouldn't work. If he ran, Bruce would be after him in a second, and then there might not be any more tenderness, just the same vicious brutality he was accustomed to. The longer he stayed, the harder it was to make the decision to leave, as his body betrayed him. He couldn't look his guardian in the eye but he couldn't lean away either and so he stayed kneeling on the aristocratic bed, his shaky legs barely keeping him upright.

The hands moved down his hips and under his loose pants and Dick clenched his fists in frustration at the slow movements, wishing something and nothing would happen at the same time.

_Just keep still. Just keep still and it won't get worse. _

His mind started focusing on the sensations and less on the situation itself. The image of Bruce disappeared from his sight and was instead replaced by a faceless person; genderless, ageless, yet with a shiny, golden skin and brilliant blue eyes. The face slowly started to develop female features and Dick focused on the full lips as they formed a smile; the golden body becoming softer and rounder, shining blonde hair and he could recognize her as Mrs. Rawn, unzipping the dress she was wearing at that charity ball, sparkling and a little inappropriate for the occasion.

He let out a soft gasp as he felt a slight pressure being applied to his crotch and suddenly there was a hand firmly grasping him and he moaned pathetically, his hands half-trying to push Bruce away, as the imaginary woman in front of him took off her whole dress. She was saying something but no sound came from her lips and all Dick could do was watch her helplessly as she stroked her breasts with rhythmic but slow movements.

He was overcome with desire, the first time in his life that this primitive feeling reached such heights. He was helpless in the firm grasp and the hand moved up and down mercilessly, the other teasing his nipples and moving roughly down his spine as if to keep him from escaping.

He pushed the thoughts about the hands away, instead focusing on his fantasy; however it was harder and harder to keep a clear image of the naked woman. He _knew_ it was Bruce, no matter how hard he tried to lie to himself, which made the face in his head twist and shift. Mrs. Rawn slowly morphed into one of Bruce's model girlfriends and then to her drunken self in the Midnight Room. Her eyes darkened slightly and she smiled a bright smile, her jaw becoming more defined as her short hair changed its shape into a boy's haircut. Dick watched helplessly as the image of the mother became the son lying before him on the couch. Richard smiling, Richard's white shirt wet from the rain, Richard's sweaty face glaring in concentration, Richard moaning and growling in desire, Richard's naked body and golden skin, Richard reaching towards him and grasping-

"Aah…!"

He closed his eyes with an almost painful grimace and his whole body shook with the intensity of his very first climax. The following five seconds were full of pure bliss and all of his thoughts disappeared completely, as if turned off by an invisible switch in his mind.

Then, after the five seconds passed Dick opened his eyes to face reality. And he froze in shock.

'_Oh, god…did I just…did he…oh my God…'_

His trembling legs finally gave in and Dick fell down on the bed, having no choice but sit face to face with the man who just… who just did those things… and made him feel…

He thought he would throw up but his stomach was completely fine. Bruce was staring at him with eyes dark with desire yet he didn't make any movement; a mere observer that was trying to guess his reaction. When Dick looked down he could see his come on the sheets, on his pants, on… on Bruce's hand. He trembled at the harsh reality of the situation and immediately looked away, not wanting to see any of it.

He felt so humiliated he could hardly breathe. Slowly, as if the switch was put back on in his mind, Dick slid off the bed and adjusted his pants with tense, mechanical movements. He opened his mouth to say something, accuse Bruce, insult him, demand an explanation but with a shock he realized he was no longer a victim in this relationship. This was different from letting Bruce have his way, this was miles away from the rough encounters in the Forbidden room. The facts were that he enjoyed it and let Bruce do this, wanted it even.

Tears of shame threatened to spill from his eyes and Dick turned away and made a few fast steps towards the door that turned into an outright sprint once he reached them. He heard Bruce call something after him but forced himself to ignore the words, not caring about the consequences.

He was running away like a coward, a disgusting whore with his shirt missing and the evidence of his filthiness on the front of his pants like a branding mark. He didn't stop until he reached his room and there he slammed the door shut with a force so strong he was surprised it didn't break.

He grabbed the unused gaming console on the ground and threw it on the wall; the top fell apart with a loud bang leaving a large dent in the plaster and the machine lay broken on the floor. The table, his textbooks, pens, bag, clothes… all of it was thrown across the room as he raged helplessly and destroyed everything he could get his hands on. He ceased to be a thinking individual and instead became a mere being of violence; able to only destroy and nothing else, tearing things down with no logic or pattern behind his actions.

Once the room lay in tatters, his eyes fell on the only thing left intact, the biggest, most expensive and lavishly obscene gift Bruce had ever supplied him with: that damn, ridiculous TV. The boy ran up to it, dug his fingers behind it and pulled, letting the screen's weight do most of the work as it tore from its fittings and crashed onto the floor, cracking and sparking. The room shook with the impact and the noise, and Dick was glad. He hoped Bruce and Alfred had heard, he hoped he had disturbed them, that Alfred knew about Dick's power to make a mess and create tedious work for the old man, and the master understood how easy it was for the boy to burn a hole in the Wayne wallet by destroying everything of any value, that it all meant nothing to him. He hoped they realized they couldn't watch him all the time, couldn't control him every second of the day, and that he could wage war on the Wayne household if he wanted to, destroy every antique, every heirloom. Burn the house down.

But with nothing left to destroy in his room, his mind went back to what had just happened, his disgrace, and knew this temporary feeling of power was meaningless. He couldn't do anything to the men he lived with, they could only hurt him.

And when the anger passed, the tears began.

The thought that he would never be able to face the world crossed his mind but he knew all too well he would be forced to get over this. The same way he survived his parent's murder, the same way he lived through Bruce's torture, the same way he dealt with Alfred's betrayal…

He would get through this.

"Fuck…"

It was already past midnight, as he was curled on the edge of the bed that it occurred to him that Bruce never punished him for the mock test.

But inside he knew that this was the worst punishment of all.

**Author's Note: **These last two chapters were AmberSpirit's work, next it's my turn.


	19. The Boy Reaches

Chapter 19

Dick closed his locker door with a snap. The voices of the other students faded away down the corridor as they all left the Academy for home, while Dick stayed behind, fiddling nervously with his makeshift gym kit. He was meant to go to the gym now, where he would meet Richard and the rest of the gymnastics team, and audition for a place amongst them. He'd thought he would be excited, confident that he would awe them with his circus skills, his true nature, looking forward to finally finding a place to belong, people who liked him, with whom he shared something in common. Friends. But now that the moment was here, he found himself hesitating. All those things would be nice but...

His mind filled with hundreds of reasons for him to just walk out the front doors and go home, call Richard to apologise later that night, and never speak to any of them again. What if the team was just like everyone else in this school, and would make fun of his circus background? What if he humiliated himself by performing some hideously inappropriate, goofy style of acrobatics completely different from what they did? Dick had no idea what competitive high school gymnastics was like. And the most practical clothes he'd been able to find amongst his belongings were some loose black jogging trousers and a T-shirt – he might as well have gone in wearing rags. But it was that or his Flying Graysons uniform, and Dick was at least able to tell that _that_ would have been over the top. He also had no idea who was actually _on_ the team, and while he didn't exactly have any hardcore arch-enemies in the school, there were plenty of boys he wouldn't trust to catch him if he took a fall from the rings.

But most of all, he was scared to see Richard, but his subconscious shut that thought down faster than an overheating nuclear reactor. He couldn't face the reason why he didn't want to see Richard again, but with a stern voice, he told himself that Bruce was _not_ going to ruin this for him, and he threw his bag over his shoulder and stormed towards the gym before he could talk himself out of it.

He wasn't going to give Bruce the _satisfaction_ of taking away the only thing Dick looked forward to in his new life. Richard was just a friend, and it was too soon to even say that.

As he approached the short corridor that led to the gym, he heard loud, rambunctious voices and scuffling as he came within earshot of the rest of the team. His feet slowed again, but he pushed himself around the corner and felt his shoulders physically relax as he saw that there was no one there, the noise was coming from the changing room. Dick then realised that this would mean he would have to go in by himself, an even more awkward and potentially embarrassing entrance than just walking into the crowd if they weren't expecting him.

Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he took several deep, calming breaths. He could handle a dozen high school students, he'd performed in front of hundreds of people a night, including some very rich and influential celebrities, _without_ a net. But that was over a year ago...

He walked up to the door and cleared his throat, just in case they could hear him, though he knew the chance was very slim. There was absolutely no change in the chorus from inside. Maybe they wouldn't even notice him.

Dick pushed the door open slowly and peeked inside. Today was not his lucky day. Every boy within sight of the door saw it open and immediately stopped what they were doing, and silence fell steadily in the room. The boy tried to stroll in casually, secretly frantic about how he would explain his presence there. He noticed that he was the youngest boy there, everyone else belonging to the upper classes, and that they had already started changing, so some of them were only half dressed. Dick had had more painful experiences in his life, much _much_ more painful ones, he knew that, but this was ranking way up there for awkwardness.

"Dick, hey, come on in."

The boy heard Richard's sunny, welcoming voice and almost melted with relief, but not all the way - just because he had one boy on the team on his side, didn't mean he was safe yet. Richard walked over to him, looking more casual than Dick had ever seen him in a T-shirt, bare feet and his uniform trousers. The younger boy had a moment to be glad he hadn't walked in when Richard was shirtless or just in his underwear like some of the other boys were.

"So you made it," Richard said, smiling as if he was genuinely glad and putting an arm around Dick's shoulders. The blonde's skin was hot against Dick's neck and the boy hoped he wasn't blushing. "Guys, this is Dick Grayson, I told you he was trying out today," Richard introduced him.

"Ahhhh,... _Dick_," said a boy directly in front of them, probably a senior, who looked to be taller than Richard. Dick didn't know his name, but he had seen him around the corridors. He was currently grinning in a good natured way that he probably hoped was passing for welcoming, but that Dick in fact recognised as someone finding his name funny. Several other boys also smiled, but so far, no jokes.

"Be mature, Don. We didn't think you idiots could handle _two_ guys called Richard," defended Richard with a teasing tone, and Dick felt better.

"Pfft, you're just so much of a glory hog, you don't want there to be any confusion when they're handing out the awards," Don replied.

"Well, so far the judges haven't been confused enough to give you any," Richard shot back, causing a hiss of "Oooooh" to ripple around the room, followed by laughter.

"One day, Rawn, _one da-ay_," the tall boy said dramatically, shaking his fist at the ceiling, and the others laughed again. Dick's anxiety felt like a thing of the past.

"Whatever you say, Don. Here, introduce yourself to the new kid, I'm getting changed, and so should the rest of you if we want to actually get anything done today!" Richard called to the team, patting Dick on the back and shoving him over to Don, while everyone else turned back to the lockers and resumed getting into their gymnastics uniforms.

Unsure, Dick stuck out his hand and introduced himself. "Dick Grayson," he said shyly, afraid it was too formal. But of course he had nothing to be afraid of, because at the Allen Bex Academy, the boys probably learned to shakes hands from birth, and Don gripped his without a second thought.

"I'm Donald Trump, the Second," he said.

"Really?" Dick exclaimed before he could stop himself.

"Not yet, but I'm going to be," replied the older boy with a wink, and Dick realised he'd fallen into the trap. Beside them, another boy groaned and turned to Dick.

"He does that to everyone," he said. "I'm Danny." They too shook hands, and Dick was relieved to see that this boy was much closer to his own age, probably only in the year above. Then he remembered Richard mentioning a boy called Danny as one of the stars of the team, and Dick felt a little glint of competitiveness. "You can just grab a spot anywhere and get changed," said the other boy.

Dick nodded and moved to a locker a couple of spaces away. He noticed as he pulled off his tie and slipped out of his blazer that the boys' uniform seemed to be professional, much like his Flying Grayson outfit, only in the much more sedate colours of black leggings, and blue and grey geometric shapes on the chest.

He couldn't say he was comfortable undressing in front of people who were basically strangers to him, but he was reassured to see that no one was really paying him any attention. Sometimes he forgot that, to most people, he was a small fish. Being Bruce Wayne's ward gave him some credentials, some weight to through around if he wanted to, but it felt like the older students were too busy thinking about their own careers to focus on an orphan who didn't know anything and who, really, might not inherit a dime. He had a deep, deep well of secrets, but as long as they stayed secret, he could pretend to be just another kid.

Dick was just out of his shirt and ready to replace it with the plain T-shirt he'd brought when he heard Danny beside him exclaim suddenly.

"Holy cow, Dick! Those look naaaastyyy!"

The boy immediately flinched, turning to hold the t-shirt between him and Danny, hopefully shielding himself from view. He knew what the other student must have seen, but he still looked down at himself, his eyes finding the fading green and yellow bruises that spotted his torso. The atmosphere in the changing room had been so light-hearted, Dick had forgotten himself, because he had made sure to examine himself thoroughly the night before, and he had known those marks were there. He had meant to keep them hidden, but he had let himself fall into a false sense of security, and now he was exposed.

A few other heads had turned and seen what Danny was talking about, and Dick now had a small audience waiting to hear the explanation.

"I fell," Dick said hurriedly, unable to supply anything better. "Off the bars. I was practising," he stuttered.

"Really? But they're kind of all over, not just on your back," pursued Danny, carelessly pushing Dick's pathetic cotton shield out of the way to look, annoyingly curious. Dick was panicking, his new-found happiness couldn't be over before it even began, could it?

"I fell a lot," Dick answered.

Danny looked at him suspiciously, and Dick waited. He'd forgotten these people were athletes – they could read bruises.

But then Danny turned away to call down the row to Richard who was watching silently from further away, "Hey Richard, I thought you said this guy was supposed to be good?"

There was a gentle laugh from the rest of the team and everyone seemed to forget about it. Dick started breathing again. He finished dressing quickly, not letting any further bruises be noticed, and then he went to stand by Richard, who was waiting by the door, watching the team get ready. The blonde gestured for Dick to go on through to the gym room where he found every kind of acrobatic equipment he knew of – well, except the trapeze - set up throughout the large space. The team's budget must be crazy, Dick thought to himself.

Gradually, the other boys filtered into the room until they were all there and Richard closed the door to the changing room behind them all. Everyone had drifted into small groups to chat to each other, but no one was talking to Dick. It didn't put him at ease, but he didn't take it personally – he was just eager to finally get back into acrobatics again, to feel that familiar strain in his muscles that told him he was doing something other people couldn't do.

"Alright, Coach isn't here, so I'm going to be leading the practice today," Richard called to them as he approached, folding his arms and looking like he was planning on giving them a hell of a work out. Don groaned loudly, obviously he was the joker of the group, but the others all seemed happy enough with this arrangement.

Richard quickly led them through some stretches, and while Dick noticed he couldn't do them without feeling a bit of pain, they weren't impossible for him, and a week or two of practice would have him as flexible as ever. It was also a good way to judge the level of the group, since no ordinary person could have done them, and he was only able to keep up because he had persisted in doing the stretches his father taught him whenever he was able to. Then Richard looked at him directly at his place at the back and said,

"Dick? Are you ready to show us what you can do?"

Dick assented with a nod and a mumble as everyone turned to look at him and cleared a path for him to the equipment. He walked forward nervously and Richard moved back, gesturing to the various rigging.

"Choose your weapon," he said, and he smiled wide at Dick.

Dick had already decided to go for the asymmetrical bars. They were the closest thing to the trapeze other than the rings, which he didn't think he still had the upper body strength for. His parents had also trained him on the beam and the pummel horse, but if he wanted to impress these boys, he was going to have to show them something special.

As he stepped onto the mat set up beneath the bars, dusting his hands with the chalk provided, Richard asked him "Do you need us to take that down a bit for you?" Dick looked at him in incomprehension for a second, before he realised Richard thought the bars were set too high for his height. He almost scoffed and replied,

"No, that's alright." The idea that the bars were too high up or too far apart was ludicrous. If anything, they were too low down and too close together for the circus performer. Didn't they know who he _was_?

Dick didn't have a move to mount the bars, he simply jumped to grip the high one, and pulled himself up. Still thinking about what he was going to do, how he was going to translate trapeze work onto two stationary bars, the boy stood up on the high bar, looking down at the lower one. He pulled a pensive face and paced up and down the bar for a moment. The height cleared his head, he felt more at home up there, he felt confident. He was an expert at this. When he faced the team again, he noticed that some of them were looking a little bored, as if they thought he was just wasting their time, but Richard was almost laughing, with an expression that clearly said he thought Dick was crazy. Well, if he wanted crazy, he would give it to him.

"Drum roll please," he said theatrically, looking down at Richard. He wanted to impress the older boy, and he knew he could do it.

He got a few laughs but no drum roll, so he turned back to face the low bar in front of him, judging the distance between him and it. He held out his arms, and let himself fall.

Dick didn't know what asymmetrical bar work was supposed to look like, he'd never watched gymnastics on TV. All he knew was what his parents had taught him to prepare him for the trapeze, stuff to improve his coordination and physical condition, but he did it all with a conscientious effort in the Allen Bex Academy gym years later. He dropped and flipped and turned and rolled as best he could, trying to give it all the right look, and when he ran out of moves he made up some of his own, adapting moves from superheroes on Saturday morning cartoons. He jumped and hung and twisted, until even he was amazed he hadn't made a miscalculation and brained himself on the floor. His muscles burned and his tendons strained, but he only stopped when he absolutely had to.

He finally came to rest on the high bar, sitting along it, one leg dangling down while the other was bent up in front of him, his foot on the wood. He propped his arm on his knee and looked casually down at the rest of the team, unable to determine whether their alarmed expressions were a good or a bad thing, just focusing instead on getting his breath back. They looked impressed, but hesitant, as if they wished that they could do what Dick could, but they had to balance that against winning trophies, since the Grayson style was definitely not regulation. What he had done was flat-out _cool_, in ways only gymnasts would recognise, but whether they wanted him on the team or not remained to be decided.

Richard came forward, smiling as usual, and Dick nervously awaited the verdict.

"So..." spoke the blonde. "You Graysons really can fly."

"What, that? That was just falling with style," Dick replied with a crooked grin, the adrenaline and endorphins still in his blood giving him confidence.

Richard laughed. "Well, your lines were good, and you've clearly got the moves, you know what you're doing, but your style is a little crazy, you'll have to learn the proper... restraint, if you're going to compete. 'Death-defying' isn't a phrase most parents want associated with their sons' PE class," he said.

"I can do that," Dick replied, still panting but wanting to stay on those bars forever, and try out those rings and everything else. He wanted this so badly, this little taste of his old life, the distraction and escape from the Manor and from Bruce. He felt like just another boy here, not like the Devil's personal plaything.

"What do you say, guys? Is there room on the team for one more?" asked the captain, turning to the others. While there wasn't a unanimous cheer of welcome, no one seemed to have a problem with Dick joining either, so Richard turned back to him and said "You pass - Congratulations."

Dick jumped down from the bar grinning, and accepted Richard's handshake. Danny came over and slapped him on the back, while Don also came forward, rubbing his hands together with a comically villainous look on his face.

"Let the hazing begin," he said gleefully, and Dick's smile instantly vanished, making the others laugh.

"He's just kidding," Richard reassured him, steering him away from the crowd and towards the rest of the equipment. "We'll get you when you're not expecting it," he amended, and he winked, leaving Dick unsure whether he should be afraid or not.

For the rest of the practice, while everyone else worked around them, Richard helped Dick get to know all the different gear, discovering his strengths and weaknesses. He seemed pretty confident that if Dick worked hard, he would be able to participate in a small way in their showcase that was coming up in which they performed for the parents. Dick only felt safe considering it because he knew there was no way Bruce would ever go to it.

oOo

Dick was back at his locker after the practice, feeling happier than he had in a long time. His body hurt, of course, and he was going to have to take a long hot shower when he got back to the manor if he wanted to be able to move the next day, but it was a good kind of hurt, the kind you got from hard work, not a hard beating. His hair was damp with sweat, but he'd been able to talk to some of the other boys and they'd all been friendly enough, and Dick felt the practice had been a success.

He retrieved his bag with his books in, his mood instantly souring at the thought of going back to the Manor, his stomach twisting and jaw clenching. It was almost enough to make him feel physically sick, but he could always hope that Bruce wouldn't be there.

Dick was just about to close his locker door when he noticed Richard coming towards him.

"Hey, good practice today," the blonde said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. His uniform had only been put back on loosely, the collar open and the tie missing.

"Thanks," replied Dick, noticing that he was comfortable around the older boy now, his need to impress him having faded. Maybe he was one step closer to having a proper friend, but then there was still that little drop of poison that Bruce had infected him with, but again he refused to look at that thought.

"If you want to catch up faster, I can give you a hand, my parents had a gym put in when my older brother got into gymnastics," the other boy said.

Wow, was Richard inviting him to his house? Where they would be able to hang out together just the two of them? That really was something friends did, granted, there hadn't been anyone else there when they had eaten lunch together, but that was less personal than going to his _house_. The mention of his older brother as well reminded him of what he knew of Mrs Rawn's other son, namely that he was gay and had been given trouble for it at this school. But really, all Richard was asking him was to improve his gymnastics, maybe Dick was worse than he thought? He shouldn't read too much into this, he told himself, and besides, he wanted to go.

"Sure, that sounds great," the boy replied.

"Ok, when's good for you?"

"Er," Dick hesitated. That was the problem, Bruce _never_ wanted him to go out, to have any kind of life of his own and definitely not to have friends. The billionaire had every reason to be afraid of Dick making connections and trusting people, given what the boy could say about him. He had paid a heavy price to be allowed to be on the team, and he had kept the lunch with Richard a secret, but he didn't know how he would hide several hours at somebody's house. "I'll have to think about it," he said in the end.

"Okay, I guess Wayne likes to keep you on a short leash, huh?" Richard said jokingly.

"No!" Dick corrected much too fast, his fear of being discovered spurring him to the lie. "I mean, he just... has a lot of plans, so I don't know when I can really... get away," he continued, trying to smooth away his over-reaction.

"Okay..." the blonde was looking at him curiously. "Well, just let me know when you can escape and we'll set it up."

Dick agreed, and they walked together out of the school. The driver was waiting with the car outside, making the younger boy feel embarrassed as the elder noticed and said goodbye, splitting away from him as Dick headed to the car. He wondered cynically where Ms Dominatrix had gone, what she was doing instead that she couldn't be there with him, but he supposed it didn't matter. Driving him around was none of their priorities, he just got whichever chauffeur was available. It was a good way to keep them from forming attachments to each other, and to make sure the boy never felt safe with any of them, safe enough to _tell_. And it worked; without any sense of routine or predictability, Dick didn't even know their names, and they were all just... faceless.

As the boy got into the backseat, he thought he felt the driver's eyes behind his dark glasses watching him for longer than usual, but it didn't hit him until much later just what the man might tell Bruce.


	20. The Boy's Paranoia

**( AmberSpirit: )**

_**AN: Ok, I had great fun writing this chapter…does that make me a bad person? I could go on about how psychological it is but they only way to describe it is to post a response Alchemist's daughter wrote to me after I told her what I wanna write about:**_

_[As for the next chapter, what you suggested sounds good. Such a mind fuck, how does Dick survive it man?]_

_**That…is a GOOD FUCKING QUESTION.**_

_**PS: Also, I've been told you guys don't review much. :(**_

Chapter 20: The Boy's Paranoia

He couldn't look him in the eye but he knew he had to pretend that there was nothing wrong. He ended up concentrating on the space between the man's eyebrows, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"I made sure everything is ready for your school trip so you can tell your class teacher it's all taken care of."

"Yes…thank you." he responded, his voice polite as he continued avoiding his guardian's eyes, not really sure how to make his words more grateful to his master's ears.

The old Dick Grayson would probably have tried to physically harm the billionaire after what happened in the man's bedroom (he was so angry and so, so ashamed) and yet here he was, playing the part of the studious son eating dinner with his precious father. _Thanking_ the man whose hands had positioned him on the grand bed, touched his wet skin, scratched his hips and… and… made him-

Dick forced himself to chew on the grilled fish, barely tasting the meat as it passed down his throat. He looked at Bruce and then meekly turned back towards his own plate when the gaze was unexpectedly returned. Why was he doing this again?

He didn't like it. He _hated_ being like this, but it was as if Richard's friendship turned him into an obedient, tamed animal; his offer to visit his home putting a tight leash on his normally antisocial behaviour. He had to be not only responsive but… _pleasant_ as well. He was willing to behave if he could have his friend.

"You've healed now?" Dick asked suddenly, the question awkward and inappropriate in the silence of the grand dining hall. Bruce raised his tired looking eyes and responded almost immediately.

"Yes. Don't worry about it."

'_I was not worrying about it_.' Dick thought bitterly, wanting to punch him. But all that came out was a quiet "That's good" and it was back to silence again. Dick wondered why Bruce looked so tired and then immediately decided it didn't matter. He should be focusing on his own problems.

"You had your debate class today, didn't you?"

The boy blinked at the question and put down the fork that was nearing his mouth. He didn't expect Bruce to continue with the conversation; he was hardly ever interested in his ward's daily achievements unless it involved exams, money or reports.

"Yeah... uh… it's every Friday." he added lamely, not used to talking about such matters with his guardian._ 'Of course he knows it's every Friday, he picked it for you._' When there was no response, Dick forced himself to talk some more.

"The topic was carbon taxing. Is it a good idea? Is it possible to achieve it globally, is it fair on other countries? Et cetera. Not really that exciting. Last time it was much be-" He suddenly remember how _weird_ about Batman his guardian was and decided to change the sentence completely. "-better. I mean, today's wasn't really that bad, but the arguments were weak because one of the boys that was supposed to do it was absent so Mr. Drew chose a random volunteer who obviously had done no research or preparation so there were a lot of random pauses and his arguments were obviously pretty soft. I mean, he did his best, but topics like this, you need to… to do your… your research…"

He tried to force himself to go on, keep talking, keep his eyes away from Bruce but the boy suddenly found himself tongue-tied and his heartbeat was getting steadily faster. Bruce was looking at him but he wasn't just looking.

He was _staring_.

Staring with that strange look in his eyes he sometimes wore, very unlike his cold expressions or the relaxed face he showed the media. Frozen on the spot, Dick could not look away, staring back like a small mammal ready to bolt any second from a far away predator. Feeling the same confusion as with the warm hand on his head or the soft voice, Dick could not understand the look the older man was sending him. Bruce's eyes were intensely dark, underlined by his exhausted features and for the first time that day, Dick thought about his tormentor._ Really_ thought about him.

He turned to face him fully.

"How can you be alright? You went to the office today, didn't you?"

Bruce lowered his eyes and it was back to the cold façade and Dick knew he was onto something here.

"I saw all the blood Alfred had on him. It was… You had to be really injured and you were all bandaged up and that was a _lot of blood_, Bruce." He didn't leave him any time to respond and continued almost immediately. "Hurt like that... you would have to stay in a bed for at least a week to function normally. So how can you be well enough to go out? And how did you get injured in the first place? What were you doing at the police station?"

Only after he was done did Dick realize what a big mistake asking all those questions really was. It wasn't any of his business. Of course it wasn't. All he's supposed to do is obey and do as he's told; he's not meant to ask questions, especially when his guardian is so secretive about something. This was hardly going to put him in a nice mood and Dick _needed_ that permission to go to Richard's; needed it like a drug addict desperate for his next fix, hopeless and without any choice.

"I was at the station because of a rather unfortunate incident with my car. Police got involved and I had to be escorted to the station."

Bruce replied and held his ward's frightened gaze as if daring him to contradict his master's statement. Dick grasped the fork again and turned back to his plate, not trusting his face to betray his real thoughts.

How ridiculous. _Car accident_. That was probably the bullshit Bruce wanted to feed the media if they ever found out about his injuries. Billionaire Bruce Wayne, returning from some random girlfriend's house after spending the night, drunk off his ass and caught by the police on the way. It fit his airhead playboy persona perfectly except both he and Bruce knew that he was not the type of a man to get into a car accident. EVER.

He blinked at his half empty plate and put the fork down again.

"You should be more careful. I was… I was really worried."

Bruce's eyes widened and he leaned slightly forward against the table. Dick wondered if he believed him, if he was so idiotic to ever believe that the boy he shamed on such a level could ever really care for him in any way. But the more he thought about it the more he realized he _did_ care; he didn't want Bruce killed by some elaborate prank by a deranged man. He didn't want him to be a victim because Bruce didn't deserve such an honourable death. What he deserved Dick didn't know but he knew it was something much, much worse.

Bruce didn't respond, instead returning to that soft gaze that Dick began to recognize as something akin to a twisted sort of _affection_. It never really occurred to him that his guardian could be fond of him; after all you don't purposely hurt the people you love; he was taught to show his affection with smiles and soft touches and never any violence.

But was he even considered to be a real person in Bruce's world? He suddenly had a startling vision of a clown toy he used to own as a little boy, half puppet and half stuffed. He was named Dogger despite having nothing to do with dogs in general and Dick carried him around everywhere he went, even when he bathed. The poor toy was abused and torn apart on a daily basis but whenever one of his arms or legs came off he would immediately bring Dogger to his mum and she would sew him back together, as good as new, and Dick could go on dragging the clown through mud and tearing him apart all over again. This went on for many years until he began losing him piece by piece; first his arms , then his legs and finally when the head rolled off his parents brought him a different kind of toy and Dick forgot about Dogger completely.

Thinking back to his childish cruelty, the boy could not help but compare himself to the abused clown, silently wondering if Bruce looked at him with the same childish possessiveness of a boy wanting to play with his favourite toy. Was he simply a pet to satisfy a rich man's need for eccentric indulgence? The thought depressed him and he opened his mouth to change the subject completely.

"By the way, I had try-outs for the gymnastic team on Wednesday. It went very well."

He found himself at ease talking about the team and tried to focus on the subject and not on Bruce's intense eyes watching him from across the table. '_Stop looking at me like that. Please_.'

"I would imagine it did. After a few months they would have trouble keeping up with your level." Bruce's voice was light but he looked like he meant it. Dick shifted uncomfortably at the praise; his guardian didn't compliment him very often and when he did the boy would often end up wishing he hadn't.

"I don't know about that…"

He replied with an unsure voice. It was obvious that both of them were done with their dinner but Dick could not leave before the master of the house. He decided to go ahead and ask him about Richard.

"But for now I need some more training on the equipment they use at school and the team captain offered to teach me. There's a gym at his place with all the stuff and I-"

"-What's this boy's name?"

Bruce asked sharply and Dick straightened up in his chair with alarm. He suddenly felt like he was betraying Richard by talking about him in front of Bruce; as if by giving up his name, he left him at the man's mercy. But that was of course ridiculous. He'd just said that Richard was the captain of the gymnastics team and that information alone could give Bruce the boy's name in a matter of minutes if he cared to find it out.

"Richard Rawn. He's a senior."

He wondered if the name rang any bells, if Bruce remembered Mrs. Rawn and felt ashamed of fooling around with the mother of Dick's friend. If he did, he didn't show it on his face and Dick continued talking, hoping to shift his guardian's attention away from Richard and towards the gymnastics team.

"I just… really want to get better. The team has won a lot of awards and I wanted to participate, but for that I need to get used to the rules and the equipment-"

"-Why do you need to train at his house?" Bruce cut in again and Dick was left speechless. Such a simple question. Why indeed? After all, they could have practiced at the school gym; if Richard explained the situation to their coach he would surely be allowed to borrow the keys for a extra evenings. And that way Dick would be even better prepared for the team's exercises since the equipment would be exactly the same.

Except Richard wanted to show him the stuff at his place, and it was such a friendly offer that Dick would be willing to say yes to a lot of things his master wanted of him if it just got him to agree to the visit. A lot of horrible things. "He… he offered I guess. He was being polite." Dick responded, trying to make Richard into a non-involved party in the whole issue. Bruce slowly leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the table. He looked displeased.

"Why don't you invite him here instead?"

Dick blinked in shock.

"We… We don't have any of the equipment-"

"-You know that's not a problem, Dick." Bruce assured him and that soft look was back in his eyes, making Dick feel like he was slowly slipping under the surface no matter how hard he tried to keep his head above water.

"W-well we have the trip next Wednesday-"

"I could get all the equipment installed here tomorrow, you don't need to worry about that. After all, if the gymnastics team is so important to you, you'll need a gym eventually."

Dick wondered just how much a completely equipped gym like that cost, especially at such short notice, but could not come up with a number. He looked at his guardian helplessly and Bruce seemed to find this amusing, because his mouth curved into a small smile and he linked his hands at the table.

"Very well. Everything should be arranged by tomorrow afternoon so just tell me when _Richard_ arrives and I'll make sure to say hello."

Dick froze and looked away from his guardian in horror. '_Make sure to say hello'_? Bruce planned on meeting Richard? The thought sent a violent shiver through his whole body and a feeling of something being terribly terribly wrong hit him head-on. It was a bad idea to bring Richard to Wayne Manor, of course it was, but what other choice did he have now? He couldn't simply _not_ invite him, Bruce was getting a whole fucking gym just for this thing!

With something akin to hysteria, Dick looked back at Bruce (not into his eyes but at the small space in between).

"Thanks a lot. That would really help me out with the training."

"You know that whenever you want something all you have to do is ask." Bruce replied smoothly, and Dick smiled at him mechanically, not really registering the words. '_He's going to meet Richard. No, he did all of this just so he COULD meet him. He's going somewhere with this I just don't know where…_' Dick thought with despair, too caught up to hear his guardian's next words.

"-late. Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven? Hurry up and send Alfred in here on the way, please."

Dick nodded and stood up, quickly making his way out of the dining room. He could already hear Bruce making phone calls in the background, no doubt arranging all the movers and the gym equipment necessary for a gymnast.

Dick still couldn't believe it.

He couldn't sleep.

Dick lay underneath the covers like a spider caught in his own web. He could not stop his mind from moving in circles, going over his conversation with Bruce again and again. He felt like something bad was going to happen to Richard if he met Bruce, that perhaps his guardian would see how important the blonde is to his ward by just one look and then… then what? He couldn't really kill him, could he? Dick laughed at his own imagination and then stopped as the thought etched itself into his brain.

No, he couldn't kill him… but he could very well keep him out of Dick's reach. Or worse, he could financially ruin him, his whole family and, oh God, Mrs. Rawn… Richard was so talented in everything he did; sports, studies, politics… he probably had a bright future in front of him, graduating from such a prestigious school. But all of it meant nothing when faced with the merciless mind of Bruce Wayne. He could not only ruin his family, he could make sure that none of them would ever find a job anywhere in Gotham ever again. Dick remembered the articles in the newspaper about how the 'News Ninja' journalist was uncovered and virtually ruined.

"…_just tell me when Richard arrives and I'll make sure to say hello."_

Dick turned onto his other side and kicked his covers off in frustration. He should go to sleep, he's not going to figure anything out by lying around awake, he needs to be alert tomorrow after all. He desperately hoped that Richard would be busy the whole day or that the number he gave him was false or simply wrong…

"_You know that whenever you want something all you have to do is ask."_

Bruce's voice was going non-stop in his head, one sentence after another and all of it on loop. Feeling incredibly claustrophobic despite the size of the bed, Dick kicked off the rest of the covers and buried his face into the pillow. Its coldness was soothing on the boy's hot forehead and he gradually relaxed, ignoring the dark voice in his head.

"_Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"_

The billionaire was right, he did go to sleep at eleven, forever a creature of habit. His parents had drilled an internal clock into him that refused to be shaken by anything; sleep at eleven, wake up at nine. The thought only made him more sleepy and Dick snuggled deeper into the pillow, grabbing the nearest one and clutching it to his chest.

"_Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"_

Dick opened his eyes. How did Bruce know that? Dick couldn't remember a single conversation between them that had anything to do with sleeping hours. He was pretty sure he never mentioned it to Bruce. How strange.

'_Oh well… lucky guess then? The man DOES think he knows everything after all.'_

Dick leaned on his elbows and turned the pillow around, putting his head on the cold side and going back to sleep. He remembered his father teaching him that trick. They both liked cold pillows under their heads, something his mum never understood. Dick smiled at the memory.

"_Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"_

But the sentence refused to let him go. Yes, he always goes to sleep at eleven, but Bruce could not know that. Maybe Alfred told him? Yes, Dick decided that was possible. Most likely. Alfred knew everything about the mansion and he woke him up every morning, even during the weekend.

Dick closed his eyes again and went to sleep.

"_Don't you usually go to sleep at eleven?"_

Except that Alfred only woke him up. He never really knew when he went to sleep. Perhaps he could tell by the light? But often Dick lay on the bed in the dark, sometimes for hours before eleven and besides, the butler would have to see his window from the outside of the mansion to be able to tell if the light was on or off. Maybe Bruce had some method of knowing when he goes to sleep. Like some kind of a crazy sensor, or he had a chip inside him or maybe there were some super fancy night vision cameras in his room.

Dick grimaced at his ridiculous thoughts and turned back to his cold pillow. He was slipping in and out of the dream world but something always prevented him from falling asleep. He could not get that sentence out of his head. Bruce didn't say it in a particularly strange way and he didn't put any stress on any of the words but…

'_Hah. Well maybe he DOES have night vision cameras in here somewhere,'_ Dick thought jokingly.

And then opened his eyes with terror.

'_Does he?_'

Impossible. What a ridiculous thought... But he could not shake it off. Why would he put cameras in Dick's bedroom? It was stupid, not to mention very much illegal. Bruce wasn't crazy enough to spy on him 24 hours a day. Besides he had stuff to do with his time, he was a fricking billionaire and even his playboy persona was hard to maintain sometimes. So it's not like he watched the boy on a screen somewhere whenever they were apart.

But then again that's the beauty of cameras, isn't it? He didn't have to watch everything, he could just fast forward the events however he pleased. A whole afternoon shortened to a single minute…

'_I'm going too far with this. There are no cameras in my room.'_

Dick cursed his paranoid mind and turned back to his pillow but he could not will himself to sleep. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Bruce could certainly afford it. Alfred could have installed it. No, them. There were probably several cameras in the room and perhaps even in the bathroom-

'_...!'_

"Urgh!" Dick sat up angrily and looked around the dark room. It was clear to him now that he would not get any rest until he searched the whole bedroom properly. So much for a good night's sleep, but what could he do? His mind was crazy like that; whenever he had a suspicion he had to follow through with it and find the truth behind the incident. His mum often made fun of him for it and called him her little detective. Dick lowered his eyes at the thought. She would never call him that again.

He turned on the lights and began his search. It was a long and tedious job but he made sure to double check everything. Since the room was quite big there was a lot of ground to cover and he didn't really know what to look for. Bruce could afford all kinds of equipment and he probably made sure that Dick wouldn't find it by accident. However, the thought made him try even harder and he channelled his frustration with Richard's visit tomorrow into the desperate search. He made sure to focus on the higher points since those were strategically the ideal place for a camera but even after going through the bedroom for a good forty minutes, Dick couldn't find a single thing out of place.

'_They could be embedded into the walls. The ceiling maybe.' _The boy thought absentmindedly, but there was no crack, no imperfection in the paint. He looked at the big TV to his left but knew that no device was hiding behind its brand new exterior; he proved that by tearing its counterpart down just three nights ago. Looking around, Dick could hardly tell whether his midnight rampage was a dream or not, everything looked the same when he returned from school that day; the walls, the shelves, the electronics. Alfred and Bruce didn't mention it either, and Dick was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of futility. None of his actions mattered, he was forever under Bruce's control.

He crawled back into the bed with the lights still on and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know why but he found himself convinced that if there were cameras in the room they would be positioned at the top. But the more he thought about it the more tired he felt and he had to admit that thinking his guardian set cameras up in his room just so he could _spy_ on Dick was a little bit too paranoid.

The boy sighed and rolled over, about to turn off the lights-

-and stopped, frozen on the spot.

The lights. The lamps_. Of course_.

He immediately jumped on the bed and then got back down when he realized he was too short to reach the ceiling. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the armchair and he made straight for it, grabbing the expensive piece of furniture and struggled it up onto the bed. He balanced the chair for a bit and then stood up on its top, holding onto the lamp for support with shaky hands. He felt like he was back at the circus, balancing on ropes and balls as a little kid, putting on a show for his proud parents.

He fumbled with the device for quite some time. It seemed that the lamp had two parts; the sealed light bulbs in a half circle and a sealed box in the middle. The safety glass was in his way and after a bit of thought, Dick got back on the floor and grabbed the unopened set of expensive pens, forcing one of the smaller ones out of the fancy packaging. Balancing on the top of the chair again, he got back to work.

The glass was tough but the layer was thin and it took him around two minutes to break through it with the metal part of the pen. He brushed off the glass that fell down on his shoulders and reached for the centre of the lamp, realizing there was a small hole in the middle. He immediately stuck the pen into it repeatedly, and felt machinery being destroyed on the inside of it. He returned to the box itself after that, trying to move it or tug it off with his hands.

After some time he realized it was the wrong approach and turned the pen around, using the thin part on the screws around the box. It was a painstakingly long process, Dick didn't know how long he was balancing on the armchair and unscrewing the box with the wrong equipment. All the blood left his up-stretched hands and arms, making his fingers tingle and become clumsy. He wasn't tired anymore, just anxious, and he channelled these feeling into his task, and after what felt like eternity, he managed to get rid of all the screws. With a beating heart he carefully lifted the box and realized that it was connected to the ceiling with a bundle of wires. Ignoring them, the boy forced open the front part of the box and peeked inside. What he saw in it was his own paranoia peeking back.

A camera.

There was a camera in his room. On top of his bed. A camera.

Bruce set up _cameras_ in Dick's _bedroom_. God.

Dick nearly fell off the chair in his silent horror. He quickly let go of the broken machine and left it hanging from the ceiling by its wires. He jumped down on the bed and pushed the armchair off with a loud bang. He could feel he had trouble breathing and forced himself to calm down. How could this be even possible? Why was he doing this? Why?

But the answer came soon enough; _because_ he was Bruce Wayne and because he _could_ do it. Wasn't it already clear that he wanted to control every aspect of Dick's life? What was this if not another chain around his pet's neck, another string for his abused puppet? '_No wonder he knows about my sleeping patterns'_, Dick thought with hysterical laughter bubbling under the surface, '_he knows about everything! The times I cried in my bed, the times I spent awake the whole night, whenever I studied, dressed, slept… EVERYTHING. Oh my God.'_

Jumping out of the bed, Dick grabbed the armchair and looked around the room frantically. There were exactly five identical lamps in his room and he needed to know if all of them had cameras set up inside. One by one he peeked at the machinery from behind the safety glass and one box after another confirmed the boy's fears. With a heart beating wildly in his chest he made his last stop in the bathroom; but after two checks he realized that it was the same. He could not believe it. Bruce had access to his privacy, perhaps even now. He kicked the wall in anger and returned to the bedroom.

His first reaction was rage. Destroy all the lamps along with the hidden cameras inside. Tear them down and bring them to Alfred or Bruce and demand to know what _the fuck_ was going on. But after a while he realized that would not achieve anything.

If he took it to Bruce, he knew what would happen. The man would just watch him rave about invasion of privacy and at the end of it, he would take the evidence away from Dick and tell him to go back to bed, without giving a single answer. And if he took it to Alfred, the butler would act surprised, pretend he had no idea how the cameras got in his light-fittings, maybe promise to get rid of them, but not a damn thing would change.

But this was no safety measure, this was _deliberate_. He _had_ the right to his privacy. It was not like the moment Bruce adopted him Dick became his property; he wasn't bought like some sort of an object or a slave.

But then again, wasn't he? This sort of reasoning would make sense a year ago but at this point in his life, Dick knew that his guardian could do whatever, whenever and he could not say anything about it. In Wayne Manor, Bruce was Judge, Jury and Executioner and with each passing second Dick realized that there really wasn't anything he could do about it.

He couldn't go storming into Bruce's bedroom and demand an explanation because there was none. He could not put the camera back into the box and insist that he accidentally smashed the lamp… _because all of it was already recorded_. Dick cried out in frustration and sat himself on the floor, focusing on the situation at hand. There really was nothing else to do but go on with his life and pretend nothing had happened. Bruce would know, from the recording no doubt. Alfred would know because he would have to fix it. And Dick would know. But no one would mention it, just like they never mentioned anything else.

He grieved over his own uselessness. How could he just act like nothing had happened when he'd discovered that the remains of his dignity were taken away from him behind his back? He didn't want to know how long the cameras were in use although he would imagine they were there for quite some time if not from the very beginning. No wonder his guardian never asked him about anything; he had already acquired any information he needed without Dick's knowledge. Forcefully taken away just like everything else.

The boy stood up, facing the nearest camera as his eyes locked itself onto the box in the centre. His lips didn't move and he never made a sound but the hatred in his eyes was as clear as day.

'_One day, you will be punished.'_

He didn't know how. He didn't know when. He didn't even know by whom. It may be done by his own hand or perhaps by somebody else's. But either way, he would be there to see Bruce Wayne fall.

And he would _enjoy_ it.

**(TheAlchemist'sDaughter)**

**Author's Note**: How GOOD was that chapter? Anyway, yah, you guys didn't like the last chapter so much, huh? Guess you just prefer the angsty torture to the gymnastic-y respite. Either that, or you just don't like Richard as much as Bruce. Why not tell us who your favourite is in your reviews? ;)


	21. The Boy He Trusts

**Author's Note:** Right, well, sorry it's taken so long. That's entirely my fault, no excuses. Also, THIRTY-FOUR. That is the number of reviews AmberSpirit's amazing last chapter got. That is staggering, I have never got so many reviews for one chapter before, and it has brought this story to the GRAND total of... TWO HUNDRED AND SEVEN, which is my most reviewed fic, ever. So thank you everyone. I wanted to repay you (since it is my turn again) with a really long chapter, but then, guess what, it was too long, so we split it. We'd still like to hear what you think of this one though! AmberSpirit had to help me on my Richard parts because I am apparently made him sound like a douchebag, so parts of this chapter are actually hers. Oh, and the result of the Richard vs Bruce poll was Bruce wins BY FAR.

And also, we've been getting a lot of reviews (A LOT) asking when Dick is going to find out Bruce is Batman. We're putting this to bed now. Dick IS going to find out about it, DON'T WORRY, and yes, it's going to crush him and fuck with his mind. Try to enjoy the story in between with that knowledge.

Chapter 21

Saturday afternoon came much too quickly for Dick's liking.

The sounds of drilling and the moving of heavy objects woke Dick early. He rolled over to look at his alarm clock. Five AM, that was what Bruce's money and name could do. He lay there and listened to the commotion downstairs, his anxiety about Richard's visit making him fully awake. It seemed endless; the shuffle of dusty boots as the movers struggled to transfer the equipment, whatever it was, the whir of drills putting screws and bolts into place. He had no idea what money had been spent, what favours called in, what muscle flexed, but after it all, he didn't feel a single drop of gratitude. All he could hear was the assembly of something for _Bruce_, not for him.

Nevertheless, as soon as he thought Richard would be awake, he nervously called the number the older boy had given him, half-praying he wouldn't answer, but he did.

"Hello?" he answered, and Dick realised his palms were sweating. This was ridiculous, it was just a phone call, people made them all the time, Richard had _given_ him the number for Christ's sake! That made it implicitly okay for him to call, but that didn't keep Dick from feeling that it somehow wasn't his _place_, that he was bothering the blonde.

"Er, hi, Richard? It's Dick, I was just wondering if instead of me coming round to your place, if you wanted to – I mean, Bruce would like to - He says it's okay if you wanted to come here, to practice," he babbled, not quite sure what to say. He didn't want to come on too strong, like a sad, over-eager freshman invited to the big kid's table, but he was knew that he wasn't exactly sounding very cool either. Dick thought maybe he could try to get Richard to refuse, but he knew that now Bruce wanted to meet him, there was nothing he could do to avoid it. It just made him sick that he of all people was helping his tormentor to get what he wanted, drawing another boy into the spider-web.

And of course, he was acutely aware that with the cameras, Bruce would probably have installed microphones in his room, and so at any moment, anything he said could be reaching Bruce's ears.

"Oh! Er..." Richard hesitated, making Dick's stomach drop, but then he laughed suddenly. "Sorry, of course that's fine, I was just thinking... It's Wayne Manor, you know? I guess it seems normal to you since you live there, but to the rest of us... I bet half the guys in my class would give anything for a chance to be alone with Bruce Wayne," and he laughed again, while Dick was reminded of everything he'd had _taken_ from him while alone with Bruce.

"You might only see him for a second, you know, he's busy a lot," Dick replied, probably trying to convince himself that that was true more than anything else. He didn't know what Bruce was planning, but he knew enough to tell it wasn't anything good.

"Dick, that's fine, I'm going to be there to work with _you_, not to secure my future career," Richard reassured him, but Dick knew it really wasn't up to him.

The workers were gone just after lunch, about an hour before Richard was due to arrive. Bruce had had the new gym set up in what used to be the home cinema, one of the few downstairs rooms that was big enough, and no one really used it anyway. Unfortunately, the huge screen that covered one wall was still there, as were the various speakers, as there hadn't been time to take them down. It didn't feel much like a gym either, because the floor and walls were all still carpeted to give good acoustics, and the lighting was low. That being said, the equipment itself was impressive to say the least. Mirrors had been screwed onto the walls in places, and all the units were built out of the same silver metal and black plastic, except for the bars that needed to be wood - they looked pale and rough, fresh. The safety mats were still in their plastic wrapping, piled in the corner.

Dick looked around in awe. The things he could _do_ with stuff like this.

"Do you like it?" spoke Bruce from the doorway behind Dick, making the boy spin around suddenly.

The man looked pleased with himself. He walked casually into the room, looking around as if surveying his good work.

Dick knew he had to appear suitably blown away. "Yes, thank you... It's great."

Bruce came closer. "I'm glad you like it."

Dick's guardian had been present all day, something that was unheard of in all the time the boy had been staying at Wayne Manor. He had been awake and ready in the morning to supervise the installation of the gym, he had eaten breakfast and lunch with Dick, staying at the table for much longer than usual. He seemed to always be hovering somewhere in the halls, lurking just outside of Dick's perception, but always with a keen eye on the boy.

And while Dick didn't want to say it, didn't want to dare to even think it, the man had been pleasant, possibly even _nice_. He had asked questions and made conversation with Dick at the table, and his presence felt more like a bored businessman on his day off taking a mild interest in his home life before he could go back to the office, instead of the looming, inescapable, shadowy threat that it usually was. Dick supposed this was probably what it could have been like if Bruce had been a good, fatherly guardian to him, instead of the brutal, selfish deviant he'd turned out to be.

"I hope it wasn't too... expensive..." Dick said uncertainly, turning to track Bruce as the man moved about the room in a tightening circle that was bringing him closer, and closer.

Bruce gave a dismissive wave and pulled a face, "Don't mention it, Dick, it was nothing," he replied. Dick had seen him make that exact motion and give variations on that phrase many times at publicised charity events at which the Wayne name found its way onto a hefty cheque. The boy knew it was fake, and he wondered what emotion the man was trying to hide. "I just hope this helps you to feel more... at home," Bruce finished.

An acidic taste came to Dick's mouth as he contemplated the impossibility of _that_ ever happening.

'_Is this is a pay-off for the cameras, you bastard? You know I know...'_ he thought bitterly.

The boy didn't say anything more as Bruce ended his spiralling tour of the room to stand in front of him. The man stood looking down at him.

"Dick..."

Bruce was interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway, and they both jerked to look. Alfred was primly standing there, hands behind his back, eyes unseeing.

"Master Richard has arrived, Sir. Shall I show him in?"

"He's here already?" Dick said in alarm before Bruce could reply, caught off guard. He checked his watch and saw that he'd lost track of the time. Dick hurried out of the room to the hall, where he found Richard waiting The blonde was dressed in a tight-fitting black t-shirt with the academy's logo over the heart, and loose black gym trousers, obviously prepared for a thorough training session. The dark colours went startlingly with his blonde hair and blue eyes. He had a back pack slung over his shoulder.

The blonde looked nervous standing in the middle of Wayne Manor's great hall, but he smiled when he saw Dick, who was cringing at the thought of his friend being greeted not by himself, but by the butler.

"Hey," said Richard, awkwardly adjusting his bag. He looked like maybe he was remembering the last time he was there, and knowing that Dick couldn't have forgotten in so little time.

"Hey," Dick replied, hoping to reassure him. Before he could say anything else though, Bruce came around the corner.

"Ah, Richard Rawn, I take it? I know of your father," he said, amiably striding in between the two boys and taking Richard's hand. The blonde looked utterly flustered and star-struck.

"Hello, Mr Wayne, thank you for having me, this is quiet a home you have," he said politely, looking the smallest Dick had ever seen him next to Bruce's bulk.

"Thank you, it's been in the family for generations," Bruce replied, looking up at the ceiling affectionately and finally releasing Richard's hand. "And it's no trouble at all having you over, Dick was looking forward to it, he's quite keen to break in the new gym and start showing you professionals a thing or two about gymnastics!"

This was a mask of Bruce's Dick had never seen before, the part of embarrassing, over-enthusiastic dad.

"The new gym?"

"Yes, we just had it installed recently, as soon as I heard Dick was on the team. I try to encourage him in anything he wants to do," Bruce explained, and he smiled again, as if he was having his picture taken at the end of every quotable sentence.

"But I thought Dick said he'd fallen-"

"Richard, why don't I show you my room, it's just this way," Dick said hurriedly, already making his way up the stairs.

"Oh, okay. It was nice meeting you, Mr Wayne," Richard excused himself, and caught up to Dick who, glancing at Bruce from the corner of his eye, saw the man watching them go intently, before turning and walking away. The boy forced back a shiver; something about Bruce's look or his posture gave Dick a bad feeling.

It was then that he realised his idiocy. It was the stupidest thing he could have done - taking Richard to his room where he _knew_ there were cameras, probably microphones as well, but it had been the only thing he could think of to stop Richard before he said too much to Bruce. Obviously, Dick remembered telling the boys in the changing room that he had got the bruises on his body from falling off the bars when practicing, but Bruce had just revealed that the gym was younger than his membership on the team. He hoped Richard hadn't noticed the discrepancy, but something told him he wasn't so lucky.

"Hey Dick, didn't you say you'd fallen of the bars before?" Richard asked as he came up the stairs behind him.

"Oh yeah, well I was out of practice, you know," Dick replied without looking at the blonde, praying that his lie would be believed.

"But didn't Wayne just say you got the gym when you were accepted onto the team? So how could you have fallen off before your audition?" At the moment, Richard just had the tone of someone trying to clear up a misunderstanding, he didn't sound suspicious or wary yet, and Dick was thankful for that.

"I was so sure you guys would take me on, that I told Bruce I was accepted a few days early." Dick tried to make his voice sound cocky and light-hearted, but he couldn't judge how successful he was.

Richard didn't laugh as Dick would have expected him to if he'd been believed. "Right... Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little pale."

"I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all," Dick replied, surprised the older boy was paying close enough attention to him to notice the dark circles under his eyes.

"Well anyway, it's good we're going to your room, because I have something for you."

Dick eagerly jumped on the change of subject. "Yeah? What is it?"

"You'll see..." Richard teased.

Dick led the way to his bedroom. It felt strange to bring Richard upstairs, wrong to draw him further inside Wayne Manor, away from any doors, but he knew he was being ridiculous. Bruce would not _attack_ Richard, or do anything that would send the teen running for the exit. He was too subtle for that.

When Dick opened the door, he had a sudden twinge of panic that he had left something incriminating out where Richard would see it. God knows he'd broken enough in that room to mean that in any other house there would still be loose wires hanging from the walls or broken glass sparkling on the floor. Only last night he had ripped the light fittings out, looking for cameras. But there wasn't a sign of that now. Presumably while he had been eating, when both he and Bruce had been downstairs, Alfred had fixed everything. There wasn't a thing an inch out of place. Dick didn't know if he was grateful for this, or if some part of him wanted Richard to see.

Dick made sure to close the door behind Richard, but he knew privacy was a joke in that house. The older boy was looking around from the middle of the room, polite, but not nosy. Then his gaze fell on the TV and his eyes bugged.

"Oh my God, Dick, what is _that_?" he said, walking up to it.

Dick wasn't sure how to answer; it was obviously a TV, so what response was Richard expecting?

"Jesus Christ, it's bigger than my dad's!" Richard continued, opening his arms as if he was about to hug the set, presumably trying to gage the size of it.

"Bruce bought it before I moved in, I guess he thought I would like it," Dick said, half-lying, since Bruce _had_ bought it before Dick came, but it had been bought _for_ him.

Richard then moved to the bookcase of DVDs, games and consoles. He tilted his head to read the spines and let out a low whistle. "Gears of War… That game has one mean multiplayer campaign. I never got past the- Oh." Richard paused as he slid the game off the shelf, only to find its wrapping unopened. He stared at it unsurely.

"Not a fan?" he asked after a short pause.

"Not really, I guess," Dick replied with a shrug, trying to appear natural. He suddenly remembered his little friendship fantasy he lost himself in days ago; him and Richard playing video games in his room and having fun like regular teenagers. Of course now even this was shattered by Bruce's controlling nature, no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise. He couldn't enjoy himself while he knew his guardian was watching.

"Well, if I was you I would just shut myself in this room until I had completed all these babies on hard mode, insane mode and time mode, that's for sure." He lovingly stroked the huge shelf and turned to face the other boy with a grin. "Good thing I'm not, huh?"

Dick tore his eyes away from the boy's hand, trying to think of a witty response ("You would get fat and geeky and kicked off the gymnasti-" no, that wasn't funny at all) but his heart wasn't in it.

"Yeah," he replied unsurely in the end. Ironically enough, during the past year, he had often wished that he could simply shut himself in his bedroom, the way Richard described and stay in it forever, never having to come out to face his guardian's harsh eyes. As a result, he spent most of his time in his room, but not enjoying himself with the TV or games the way Richard jokingly proposed. He spent most of it studying, or just doing nothing. The real reason was that he didn't like the rest of the house, where Bruce or Alfred could appear out of nowhere and make demands of him. He stayed in his room because he was _hiding_, because he had _thought_ he was safe there. But he knew that had been naive. It wasn't only Alfred that came to his room anymore, nor did the butler still always knock. Bruce had come to his room now as well, in the middle of the night, and they had... _tainted_ his safe place. And there were _fucking_ _cameras_ that had recorded the whole thing. Dick wondered if Bruce had saved the tapes, if he ever took them out and jerked off to them, thinking about how he could make the boy do _anything_...

"Geez, you got a bathroom and a walk-in and everything, this is ridiculous," Richard said, sticking his head into Dick's closet. Dick couldn't agree with him more - it _was_ ridiculous, but that didn't stop him from suddenly feeling burdened by all of the expensive objects. Richard had no idea how much money Bruce really put into him every day - or the reason why.

He wanted to say something but his thoughts made him clumsy and awkward and he sat on his desk chair, ashamed by his luxurious room. As if realizing the reason for his silence, Richard immediately turned back to Dick, shutting the closet door with a snap, and changed the subject. He probably thought he'd been rude. Dick wished it was as simple as that.

"Anyway, here's your present. Well, it's more of a loan really, I don't know if it's going to fit, and we'll get you your own in a couple of weeks..." The blonde pulled something out of his bag that looked like a thin, dark cloth, but when he shook it out and offered it to Dick, the boy realised it was the uniform for the school's gymnastic team. He took it gingerly, and felt that it was made from good material. It was in no way cheap, and was almost certainly custom made. Richard looked awkward, unsure of Dick's reaction.

"We had a spare, so I thought maybe you'd like-"

"No! No, it's great, thanks. I'll, er, I'll go try it on," Dick replied, trying to reassure the blonde that he did appreciate the gift. And he did; belonging to the team was important to him, and the uniform represented a level of acceptance that had been one of his main reasons for joining.

Richard smiled at him. "Okay then," he said, and Dick moved past him to change in the closet.

As Dick began pulling off his own clothes and working himself into the lycra, he tried to banish his dark mood and focus on having a good time with Richard, but it was hard. Bruce had already commandeered the visit, and Dick could feel mechanical eyes burning on his back.

"Hey, Dick?" he heard Richard call to him from his room.

"Yeah?" he replied, tugging his shirt over his head.

"Can I ask you something? About the circus?"

"Er, okay..." Dick said hesitantly, pulling down his trousers.

"How come, in a lot of the Youtube videos, they call you 'Robin'? I mean, it was just something I noticed before, and I've been meaning to ask you but I keep forgetting."

From the sound of Richard's voice, the boy was moving around, as he got quieter and louder, changing from left to right.

"Oh, well," Dick was surprised to discover he didn't actually mind telling Richard about it. "Because we were the _Flying_ Graysons, my parents had this thing about nicknames. My dad's pet name for my mom had always been 'Dove' since as long as I can remember, and she used to tease him for being like a rooster, up at dawn, cocky, that sort of thing," He bunched the legs of the uniform up in his hands so he could pull them on easily, and sat down on the floor to do it. "So when I came along, they called me 'Robin', 'cause I was small and bounced around in my little red outfit, and it just kind of stuck." Dick pulled the leotard up over his chest and set it on his shoulders, getting rid of the twists and kinks.

"Oh right, so it was like a stage name?" Richard replied.

"I guess, if you want to call it that."

When Dick was finished, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. After not wearing anything like it for so long, and before that only associating leggings with the Flying Graysons, the dark colours of the leotard gave Dick the momentary impression that he was wearing the mourning version of his circus outfit. It felt morbid to be wearing such a thing again, and he found it very fitting that when he did finally put tights on again, they were black.

Other than that, the leotard was no more or less revealing than the one he had worn in the circus, but he guessed he had just become more self-conscious after having his body systematically abused by Bruce for close to a year, because he didn't feel as comfortable in it as he used to. The material was, of course, skin-tight, and it left his arms and quite a large scoop of his chest bare. And then of course, there were the bruises, still faintly visible on his arms and shoulders. Dick really didn't want Richard to see them after the conversation they'd just had on the stairs, but what could he do? He couldn't put a jumper on and pretend to be self-conscious about his chest when his ass and crotch weren't exactly decent in this thing. He'd just have to try to keep Richard from noticing, if that was possible.

"You know, I still have my Flying Graysons uniform, if you want to see it," he called. He went under the racks of clothes and pulled out the battered and worn bag he had brought with him from the temporary foster home he had stayed in before his parent's funeral. At the bottom of it, crumpled and neglected, was his uniform. He held it in his hand for a moment and watched as it still tried to sparkle, as if it didn't know it would never see the circus again.

He stepped out of the closet and Richard looked up at him. He moved over to the bed and laid the red and green leotard on top of it, smoothing it out tenderly. The gold R on the chest was so familiar, but so foreign to his life now, that it felt like he was remembering it from a dream. Richard looked over Dick's shoulder.

"Wow..." he said, suitably impressed. "You really were famous weren't you? That's so weird."

"Yeah, we were..." Lost in nostalgia, it took a moment before Dick noticed Richard standing back to look at him, his arms crossed over his chest, a pose Dick was coming to associate with Richard when he was acting as Team Captain more than his friend.

"It looks good on you, the new uniform. Does it fit alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Dick replied, turning away from the bed to face him, feeling awkward.

"Is it the kind of thing you're used to?"

"Oh, yeah, I mean the Flying Graysons' were more... sparkly," Dick couldn't help but laugh at that, glancing at the leotard on the bed, but he honestly couldn't think of another way to put it. "But it's basically the same. It's good, I like it. Thanks."

"No problem. If it fits, we don't have to order a new one, so that's less hassle for everyone. Try moving around in it."

Dick bent over and touched his toes, then did a few of his morning stretches while Richard looked on, at a loss of what else to do to test out the new uniform. Richard was looking confused, making Dick paranoid that his usual stretches were out of the ordinary somehow - he had to admit they weren't quite like the ones the team had done on Wednesday.

"Seems perfect to me," Richard nodded approvingly, and Dick straightened up, brushing his hair back with an excited smile on his face. He gathered his Flying Graysons uniform up in one hand and turned to put it back in the bag at the bottom of his closet. He had made sure the bag was out of sight, self-conscious about the story it told.

"You can still see all those bruises though."

Dick froze for a moment after Richard spoke behind him, but then he resumed moving, completing his task. He had been stupid to turn his back and give Richard a free view of the marks on his body. The older boy seemed to be waiting patiently for a response when Dick emerged from the closet and shut the door behind him.

The blonde took a step closer and Dick tried to turn so that he wouldn't be able to see the blemishes, muttering something dismissive, but Richard had cornered him between his body and the wall; there wasn't space to move away without it being obvious. "You're going to have to try not to fall off any more bars."

Richard's tone, and the way he was watching Dick's face, said he still didn't quite believe that that was how Dick had got hurt. It made Dick angry – for so many reasons. He was angry that Richard was trying to get answers to something he clearly didn't want to explain; he was angry that everybody, even Richard himself, seemed to be trying to ensure that the visit wasn't going to be a fun and easy one; and he was angry that he was never able to just forget about what Bruce was doing to him.

"Well, that's what this practice is about, isn't it?" he replied, finally moving past Richard to stand in the middle of the room. The older boy turned and looked at him and let out an angry sigh, as if coming to some sort of decision he didn't want to act on. His expression said that Dick dodging him had only reinforced his suspicions, and now he looked at him with a sort of authoritative, pleading sympathy. His voice was loud in the silence of the room.

"This isn't the first time I've seen those, Dick. Even before the locker room, I…" He seemed to be struggling to find a way to breach the subject. "What I mean is, I understand if you want to- Agh," he ruffled his hair in frustration and Dick could feel his heartbeat speeding up as he recognised a very _bad_ situation coming his way.

Richard looked away and finally spoke calmly, apparently having collected himself. "I guess I'm trying to say that… you can trust me." When he got no response from the younger boy, he tried again. "You can tell me. About the bruises."

Not even considering the implication of the words, Dick's mouth opened as if on its own and started denying everything. "Look, I don't know what you think this is but I told you-"

"Dick! My dad's slept with half of Victoria's Secret, and my mom's the only person I know that doesn't think she's an alcoholic. You think I'm proud of that? You think I go around telling everyone? I lie and deny, and I like to think that I know when the same's being done to me... So just… trust me," he repeated firmly, and took another step towards Dick, as if he could bring himself closer to the truth by closing the physical gap between them. "I won't tell anyone..."

Dick was almost panicking. Clearly, Richard _suspected_. What, he wasn't sure. Richard might just think Bruce hit him, or maybe he was a self-harming orphan, or maybe Alfred pushed him down the stairs... Or maybe he suspected the truth of what was happening.

And what if he did? Was that something Dick wanted? In the beginning, he had wanted desperately for someone to find out, to rescue him and punish Bruce, so that he wouldn't be so alone anymore. But now that it might actually happen, it might be too late. Dick had _done_ things... He'd given himself up, done exactly what Bruce wanted without a struggle, more than once, and he'd been _punished_... If someone found out, could he live with the _shame_ of that? Did he still deserve to be rescued?

And of course, he had been taught time and time again, that you can _never_ beat Bruce Wayne. If Richard tried, he would lose, and Dick didn't want that, didn't want something bad to happen to his friend because of him.

But what could he do? He didn't know how to convince Richard everything was fine without looking even more suspicious, and what was more, if he lied about what was happening to him, then he would be _defending_ Bruce, defending the monster that had ripped him apart and played with the little pieces he found inside, and that was something he had _never_ thought he could do, not even at the price of protecting his only friend.

Dick didn't know what to do, and the longer he hesitated, the more he confirmed Richard's suspicion that something was terribly wrong inside Wayne Manor.

Suddenly, however, there was a sharp knock on the door, making the dark-haired boy jump. Alfred let himself in, not waiting for a reply, and met Dick's eyes.

"Master Dick, Master Bruce requires your presence for a moment," he said.

A part of Dick was grateful for the distraction, but for the most part, he knew better. How did Alfred know to come in right when Richard was trying to get him to talk? Bruce was obviously watching - and listening – through the bugs in his room. It made Dick wonder where Bruce actually _kept_ the screens and other equipment that must be connected to all the cameras and microphones throughout the house, where he was watching _from_.

Did this mean Bruce was angry with him? But it wasn't his fault, he hadn't said anything yet...

"Right, er, sorry Richard, I'll be right back," Dick said, walking out of the room. Alfred bowed to Richard and pulled the door to.

He turned to Dick in the corridor and said in a low voice; "Master Bruce is waiting for you in the west wing study."

"The we-? Alfred, he can't be serious!"

Dick knew the west wing study as "the forbidden room". There was only one reason that Bruce ever invited him there, but he couldn't be after that now, could he? Not when Richard was in the house!

"Master Dick, you know it is best not to keep Master Bruce waiting," Alfred advised. "I will show Master Richard to the gymnasium to wait."

'_Fuck you, fuck all of you_...' Dick thought violently as he made his way to the forbidden room. Couldn't they let him have one little thing to himself? Were there no limits at all? Of course not, it was a stupid question. Bruce got off on the control he had over the boy, so Dick's one opportunity to spend a day like a normal kid and be _happy_ was just an opportunity to make the game a little more interesting to Bruce.

He knocked on the imposing oak door, and listened as Bruce invited him in.

"Come in, Dick."

Dick pushed the handle and stepped inside the dark room. Until then, he had been angry, ready to try to talk Bruce out of it, but inside the forbidden room, the musky smell brought up memories of tears and blood and screams that stole all his courage and made him feel like a scared child.

He moved to close the door behind him but Bruce stopped him. "Leave the door ajar for now," he said.

"What? But Richard-"

"What about Richard?" Bruce interrupted him sharply, his tone instantly making Dick reconsider his words. He let his hand slip from the door handle with a shaft of light still shining onto the floor from the hallway. It crossed the room and sat on Bruce's shoulder where he leant against the desk, leaving his face still a mask of shadows.

Dick took a step forward. What did Bruce want? What did he expect from Dick when his friend was a potential witness? Or was that the point? Bruce had made him leave the door open so that Dick wouldn't be able to forget the possibility that his future happiness might be ripped away from him if Richard chose to explore the famous Wayne Manor. Bruce wanted Dick to be afraid during the act to come, only this time he wouldn't be afraid of the man himself. Dick couldn't decided whether Bruce wanted to torture him for his own amusement, to distract the boy from his own evil for once, or if the man genuinely hoped they would be discovered, ensuring that Dick would never have anyone else to rely on. Any way it was sick and twisted and Dick hated him for it.

"Is that your new uniform?" Bruce asked in his deep voice. Dick nodded, suddenly feeling a shiver. "It looks good on you," said the man. Richard had said exactly the same thing less than twenty minutes ago, but that hadn't made the boy's skin crawl as if ghostly hands were already violating him.

"Come here," Bruce said, and he shifted his position on the desk, sitting back on it. He held out a hand and Dick went into arm's reach of him. The man put his hand on Dick's shoulder and gently indicated that the boy was to go on his knees.

Dick sunk obediently down, not seeing the point in fighting this time. He'd fought before and never won, and if he was resisting to be able to say that it was rape every single time, could he still say that now after selling his body for the gymnastics team, and after coming into his tormentor's hands? Besides, he could fight, but then it would all take that much longer, and the longer he was gone, the higher the odds of Richard coming looking for him became. And if Richard started asking questions at a few faded bruises from weeks ago, what would he do when Dick returned bleeding and in pain? Any ruckus could bring Richard to the door. Dick had to keep this quiet and quick.

"Are you happy here with me?" Bruce asked him.

The hand on his shoulder moved to push through the boy's hair, as the other hand worked his guardian's belt and fly open. This was all so humiliating, so disgracing and so distasteful, Dick still had that flash of panic and nausea as he thought of Bruce exposing himself right in front of his face, and then of taking that organ into his mouth, but he fought those things down. It could be so much worse.

The hand in his hair pushed his head down and Dick got to work with one thought in his head; he had to get this over with quickly and get downstairs before Richard wondered where he was. With that in mind, he sucked hard on Bruce's thick flesh, employing tongue and teeth, moving up and down while Bruce sighed huskily and leaned back on the desk. Dick brought his hands up to grip and massage every area his mouth wasn't reaching. It wasn't the first time that Dick had wanted Bruce to just come so that it would be over, but it was the first time he was actively trying to give his guardian pleasure to achieve this. It felt so wrong, thinking about how everything he was doing would feel, and how he could improve his technique to make the man feel even _more_.

Bruce moved again, leaning forward this time, bending over Dick as he sucked. Massaging the back of the boy's neck with his rough fingers, he spoke in a low voice that would have had any girl falling on her back; "Moan while you're doing that."

Dick was so disgusted at being given instructions that he almost let go, but he remembered himself, and what was at stake if he didn't achieve his end, so he recovered his rhythm with only a beat skipped. He pretended not to hear his guardian – the last thing he wanted was to make noise.

"I'll come if you moan with me in your mouth," Bruce insisted. "I know that's what you want, you've never been this good before."

Dick almost gagged, but he did it. He moaned quietly, shifting his position on the floor as his legs began to get sore.

Bruce grunted and slung his legs over Dick's shoulders as he sat on the desk, pinning the boy in position.

"Louder," he said, and Dick didn't like the smug tone in his voice. The Wayne heir knew he had won. Dick knew enough to recognise when Bruce was planning something, and the man had already revealed that he knew that Dick was over-performing in the hopes of getting him to come quickly, and the obvious reason for this was Richard. Dick would be surprised if Bruce took the knowledge that the boy's priority was someone else very well.

Dick cursed the man, fighting the urge to bite him, as he was told to moan louder. It really did seem that Bruce wanted Richard to discover them, if not through sight then sound, and ruin the boys' relationship. Either that, or he wanted Dick to _think_ that was what he wanted, to torture him. However, he obeyed and moaned again, as loud as he dared this time.

Bruce chuckled, his leg flexing next to Dick's face. "Louder," he said again, then, in a darker, more spiteful tone, "So your little friend can hear you."

Dick gasped in shock at the maliciousness in Bruce's voice, and the open statement that Bruce was well aware of the possibility of, maybe even a desire for, Richard finding them like that. But inhaling through his mouth was a bad idea, and as he began to choke and struggled to breathe, Bruce seized his head and thrust into his mouth, carelessly fucking him until he came down Dick's windpipe.

As soon as he released Dick, the boy fell to the floor, coughing up semen onto the carpet until his throat was raw and his face was red. By the time he could breathe again, Bruce had zipped himself up and was now sitting casually on the desk, watching his ward on the floor.

Dick stood up, trying not to glare at Bruce, or attack him, or any of the other dangerous things he wanted so badly to do to him.

"You don't need Alfred, do you?" Bruce asked, almost concerned.

"No," Dick replied darkly, and he understood himself to be dismissed. He walked out of the forbidden room and pulled the door shut as he left, closing the Wayne heir in that dark room. He dusted the lint and mess from his uniform as he walked down the corridors, but he didn't go straight to the gym, instead he headed for the nearest bathroom.


	22. The Boys Together

**Author's Note:** Hello all, this is the second instalment of the chapter that was split for length. AmberSpirit would like to know if anyone has a soundtrack they listen to when reading this ff, any particular songs they like for particular moments, that sort of thing. Enjoy!

Chapter 22

Once Dick found the bathroom, he closed himself in, locking the door out of habit. He let the cold tap run, and rinsed his mouth out, doing his best to ignore his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He washed his face, neck and arms, trying not to splash the uniform and leave any marks that Richard would see. He was trying to burn the disgrace off his skin with the freezing water before he presented himself to perfect, _normal_ Richard.

He knew he couldn't afford to waste time though, so he as soon as he thought he was able, once his mind had settled again, he dried himself off and headed for the new gym. He didn't think about how Bruce could _do_ that to him, _now_, and _why_ he did it, because he knew from past experience that it didn't do any good. There were times when you had to act normal, no matter what was going on in your private life. He was learning to wear masks like Bruce, only his guardian had nothing in his life that made it necessary for him, the way it was necessary for Dick. Dick knew he was doing it to protect himself, but he also recognised that by consequence, he was protecting his abuser, and he fucking hated it, but Bruce always won, didn't he?

As Dick approached the old cinema, he could hear the creaking of bars and the harsh breaths of physical exertion through the open door. He turned into the room and watched as Richard pushed through turns and twists on the asymmetrical bars. The older boy was good, like _professional_ good. His form was perfect, and he made it look so natural. He'd never actually seen the blonde perform before, and now he realised why he was the captain of the team. Dick suddenly felt privileged that Richard had taken such an interest in him.

The blonde noticed Dick enter the room and stopped, hanging from the bar like Tarzan in the jungle before casually dropping to the mat.

"Sorry, I was just loosening up a bit. The asymmetrical bars are my favourite too, and these are incredible, I can't believe you have the whole set! You're better equipped than the Academy. These were designed for the next Olympics, right?" he said.

Dick tried to smile, look normal. "If you say so," he replied.

Richard looked at him funny, then sighed. "Look, Dick..."

'_Oh no, is he going to start asking questions again_?' Dick thought, afraid.

But then Richard continued. "I'm sorry about before. It's none of my business, and I shouldn't have stuck my nose in. We don't really know each other that well and I guess I just got carried away," he said.

Dick was surprised that he'd got off so easily. "Uh, it's okay," he replied.

"Really? I mean, I know what it's like to want your family life to be personal, and I should have remembered you like your privacy,"

Something about the way Richard said that made Dick ask; "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know you prefer to be alone, since you don't really hang out with anyone at school," answered Richard innocently.

It dawned on Dick that Richard had interpreted his social isolation as his own choice, not ostracisation. It made sense, Richard was a senior and Dick a freshman, he probably didn't talk to many of the boys in Dick's year. He wouldn't have known that - before the fateful article in _Gotham Gossip_ – Dick had been a no-family, no-fortune, no-fame scholarship student not worth the time of day to his fellow students. Richard had only seen him from afar, and generously assumed that the younger boy was alone because he wanted to be. The kind mistake warmed Dick's heart, even though it was utterly wrong, the truth being that he had pined for some kind of human connection outside of the distinctly inhuman Wayne Manor for months.

Dick wasn't going to own up to being a total loser and social outcast though, so he didn't correct the older boy.

"Oh, yeah, well, you know, most of those kids are..." He was going to say something along the lines of 'spoilt, shallow, greedy brats', but then he remembered Richard considered a lot of those brats his friends, so he changed tack. "I don't really have a lot in common with them," he finished.

Richard laughed, seeming to understand. "Right. Well, I hope you don't feel that way about me," he said, smiling at Dick, before appearing to suddenly recover himself. "I mean, I try to be friends with everyone on the team." He looked away at that, but Dick didn't notice as he was too busy chiding himself for his reaction to that sentence. On the one hand, it meant that Richard wanted to be his friend, something that Dick had been hoping for for weeks - perhaps a little too strongly, but he _needed_ someone on his side, so that he wouldn't be completely abandoned to the darkness of Wayne Manor. He needed a tether to the outside world. On the other hand though, he didn't like how that statement implied that Richard only cared about him as a fellow gymnast, and that if it weren't for his circus background leading to his recruitment, then Richard wouldn't bother with him.

His social skills weren't up to thinking of a reply, but luckily Richard didn't think his speechlessness was strange.

"Speaking of which, shall we get down to some actual practice?" he said jokingly.

"Yeah," Dick replied, eager to get back onto a subject he could handle.

"Okay, so I was thinking about it, and I think what we need to do first is find out just exactly where your level is. I mean, I know you're _good_, really good, but there might be some holes that need filling in what you know. So I'm going to start at the beginning, and you just copy everything I do until you get stuck, okay?"

Dick agreed, and moved into a position where he could see exactly what Richard was doing, and they began.

The blonde really was starting from the bottom, with level A mounts. At first Dick was almost insulted, it was as if the older boy had been trying to teach him his alphabet. As a result, they tore through the manoeuvres for the next thirty minutes, occasionally joking about how easy it was but Richard insisted he needed to check Dick knew it all. They progressed through level A and B so fast it was as if they were racing, neither of them using any aids such as springboards. When they got to level C, Richard slowed the pace down, obviously expecting Dick to start having some trouble, but he replicated each of the blonde's moves perfectly after seeing them only once.

They took a break before starting level D and E for water and to catch their breath. With the increasing difficulty, Dick was beginning to feel exhilarated as his body began having to work at it. It felt good to feel the strain on his muscles and tendons, a physical activity that didn't cost him any of his morality. The sport made his body feel _his_ again, he was in control, it was his mind and decisions that kept him from falling, that kept him flying, nobody else's. It felt great.

"You're doing really well," Richard complimented. "I expected you to have some trouble with the clear hip release with counter movement to the high bar, but you nailed it. It's like you're not even out of practice," he said.

"Um... thanks, but what did you just say?" Dick replied, completely blank.

"The clear hip release with counter movement? It's the one like a clear hip hecht only you... have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Richard was grinning incredulously.

Dick shook his head, baffled. It was like he'd suddenly stopped understanding English.

"How do you know how to do all that stuff without anyone ever teaching you the names?" the blonde asked.

"I guess we called them something else in the circus," Dick supplied with a shrug.

"Alright, so what was the name of the last move you did?" Richard looked fascinated and amused.

Dick looked down at his water bottle coyly and said with a smile; "A curled Wally with a twisty pop."

Richard laughed. "Okay, from now on, I'm going to tell you the names of the moves as I do them, and you have to teach me what you call them. I don't want to miss this," he said.

Dick agreed, and they then moved on to complete all the difficulty levels on the asymmetrical bars. Towards the end, Richard was performing moves he had only learnt in the last year or two, and while Dick had to concentrate on them, he still pulled them off on the first try. And when he wasn't performing a routine that he had choreographed, Richard's former criticism that he was too informal no longer applied, and by the time they had completed the asymmetrical bars, Richard was blown away by his junior's skill, maybe even a little jealous if Dick was judging his expression correctly. He hoped he hadn't alienated the older boy, and thought about maybe toning it down next time.

"Well, I guess that was a waste of time since you seem to know everything. I'm officially impressed," said the blonde, leading them away from the bars to start on another piece of equipment. "Next time, I'll just ask you if you can do something and take your word for it."

Richard's hair was mussed from all the action and the tips were darkened with sweat, damp and sticking to the back of his neck, and his shirt was the same. Dick imagined he must be looking very similar.

They stopped at the high bar, a single bar held high off the ground to perform spins and turns that couldn't be done on the asymmetrical bars because of the low bar. Richard jutted his thumb at it.

"I don't suppose this is going to give you any trouble," Richard said sceptically. Dick glanced at it and smiled.

"Not really, no." He tried not to look smug, but he felt that even if he did, Richard wouldn't be offended. The older boy understood what Dick felt when it came to gymnastics because he felt it too. They both loved the sport and they were both _damn_ good. It was a connection he hadn't felt with anyone since his parents.

"Parallel bars?" Richard asked, pointing in the other direction. Dick looked over at them and hummed.

"I don't know, maybe. I mean, what are you supposed to _do_ on them?" he replied. "They just look so _boring_." He wasn't boasting, Dick was just becoming comfortable enough to be open. Gymnastics was hard, it was physically demanding, but he couldn't see why it was particularly interesting to do it four feet from the ground when it could be done at fifty feet instead.

Richard approached it and swung his legs over the bars, suspending himself with his arms between them. He began moving his legs from one side to the other, dangling them or balancing, talking while he did it.

"These are mostly good for flexibility and muscle-building, as well as fluidity of movement I guess, but you can do tricks if you want to, like this," he said, smirking as he suddenly flipped himself up into a perfect, arrow-straight handstand, with one hand on either bar, before he moved them both to one bar, then to the other, making it all look perfectly effortless.

He landed gently on his feet. "You want to try?" he said to Dick.

"Alright."

Dick took his place between the bars and, with less grace than Richard's textbook mount, managed to get one leg on either bar, with his arms behind him.

"You have to tense your thighs to keep yourself up, or the bars dig in like crazy," Richard warned, and Dick took his advice, and it was true that the bars hurt less.

He shifted his weight on his already sore arms. He forced his legs apart into a split, then tipped forward, laying his palms flat on the ground. "I don't think we have to worry about my flexibility," he joked, looking awkwardly up at Richard.

"Yeah, yeah, show off. You're not the only one who can do that, you know, some of us just have more class," Richard teased, looking down at him.

"And what was the other stuff? Fluidity of movement?" Dick brought himself up again, using his legs and stomach to roll into a handstand then roll down to stand on the mat in one seamless motion. Richard looked deliberately unimpressed.

"I guess I'll just teach you the routines for those in the five minutes before the recital then, shall I? Since you're clearly so adept at it," he said.

Dick grinned at the praise and Richard's easy, teasing tone. The mood between them was so light and enjoyable, he could barely believe it after the suffocating atmosphere he'd been living in for over a year.

They crossed the room, and Richard looked around at the rest of the equipment. Dick noticed his eyes passing over the beam and clearly deciding against it, as Dick had already proved himself proficient at every other type of bar.

"How about the floor? Have you ever done that before?" he asked.

"The... floor?" Dick was perplexed, was Richard asking him if he knew how to _walk_? What else was there that you did on the _floor_?

"Yeah, you know, like tumbling," Richard said. Dick knew tumbling – _clowns_ tumbled, but the Flying Graysons were acrobats.

"Er...-"

"Somersaults? Cartwheels? Handstands? How about them, can you do them?" Richard teased.

"Oh yeah, I can do that," Dick said, finally catching on.

"If we set up some mats, you can show me," suggested the blonde, and they set about carrying over the thin floor mats from the corner and unwrapping them. They laughed as they tore off the enormous, ungainly sheets of plastic which stuck to them by static cling. These massive pieces of wrapping towered over them, seeming almost to attack them as the boys tried to fight them off, stamping them to the ground. Richard suffered less than Dick since he wasn't the one wearing spandex, and as he was taller with longer arms, he was more successful in subduing the plastic, and he was almost doubled over as he watched the smaller boy struggle with a particularly amorous sheet.

Eventually, however, they had a square of eight mats sitting in the middle of a mountain range of plastic.

"So," Richard said encouragingly, gesturing at the mats and stepping back meaningfully.

"Um, what do you want me to do?" Dick said. He had no idea what floor gymnastics entailed. He could translate trapeze moves onto bars, and he had been trained on most of them when he was a child, but the Flying Graysons belonged in the air.

"Start with a cartwheel," Richard suggested, so Dick did it. He was able to do the first few things the blonde named, including walking on his hands and backflips, but it was just the comical stuff the clowns had taught him. As soon as Richard progressed past them, Dick was lost, and Richard sensed the weakness.

"Here, try this," he said in a nurturing way, and threw himself into some complicated corkscrewing front flip. Dick considered it, he thought he could see the mechanics of it, but it was so foreign to him that he wasn't sure he could pull it off. But he wouldn't be an athlete if he didn't rise to a challenge. Stepping into a space, he attempted the move, trying to implement the same technique as a backflip except in reverse, while fitting in the corkscrew.

It didn't work. He made a good go of it, but he still ended up on his back. Richard's hand appeared before him and Dick gripped the captain's forearm, allowing himself to be pulled up.

"Okay, so I think it's safe to say we've found your weak point. Your floor skills suck," announced the blonde.

"Well, excuse me, I guess I was just more interested in getting _off_ the floor when I was learning this stuff," Dick retorted.

"And from what I've seen today, you succeeded. Are you going to want to work on the floor, or do you want to just stick to what you know and improve on your suspended work? I can teach you floor routines if you'd like, but you won't be good enough to use it in the recital, so you might want to focus on the bars for now," Richard asked.

"Yeah..." Dick looked at the square of mats. It made sense to make sure his bar work was perfect if he was going to be taking part in the recital, but gymnastics was his _thing_, and he didn't want there to be a gap in his knowledge. He wouldn't let himself be second rate at this, he was going to make his parents proud and continue their legacy. He was going to be a world-class gymnast, even if he was the only one that could know it.

"What about the rings?" Richard said, changing the subject, ready to move on.

"Okay," Dick replied, honestly interested, since they had the potential to be similar to the trapeze in some ways, but were undoubtedly different in others.

The rings were also a challenge, because they required a stationary balance that he wasn't used to, and his arms and shoulders weren't strong enough to support him for long on the unstable base that wanted to whip away from him under his weight. He could perform some of the simpler moves, but some of the more complicated ones, like handstands and flips, required Richard's help.

When it became clear that he was struggling, Richard quickly stepped forward and pushed him through the rest of the manoeuvre he was currently attempting. Dick was startled by the feel of the other boy's hands on him, on the small of his back and his hip, and dismounted as soon as he came out of the move. It was too intimate a touch. He stood shakily on the floor, looking up into the blonde's face for any sign of the cunning, or the evil that he would see in his guardian's face in the dark in the forbidden room, but Richard's expression was clear and innocent.

Dick didn't want to think that Richard was... dangerous, but _anyone's_ hands on him had only been a bad thing since he left the circus. And Richard was his friend, only eighteen, the odds of him turning out like Bruce were so small... but then he'd thought that about Bruce too, a man who was supposed to be helping him, why would he hurt him? But he had, and now he had to decide how to react to Richard touching him.

He wouldn't do anything, he decided. Not yet. The touch hadn't felt _bad_ exactly, it had just been a guiding push, and Richard's face still looked so unassuming. He didn't want to ruin this friendship because of what Bruce had done to him. He wanted to be able to trust Richard.

"Are you tired? Do you want to stop?" Richard asked, misinterpreting Dick's sudden stop.

"No, no, it's okay," Dick hurriedly grabbed the rings and hoisted himself up. Richard stepped forward, ready to help this time, and Dick braced himself to accept his help.

He tried the move again, but his arms were more tired than he'd admitted, and he didn't even get as far as he had the last time before it was clear he wasn't going to make it. The boy suddenly felt a hand under him, at the back of his leg only a centimetre away from his ass and the tips of his fingers brushing the inside of his thigh. It was Richard, trying to give him the help he was missing, but all Dick could think was '_Too close!_' and in a reflexive panic, he lost focus and the rings shot away from him.

He would have fallen, and spasmed in an effort to catch himself as he let out a "Woah!", and he just managed to glimpse Richard's startled face as the blonde dove forward to catch him. He kept Dick from hitting the ground in a messy tangle of rope, arms and legs – a mess Dick hurriedly extricated himself from, standing up awkwardly, breathing hard from his fright. It was stupid anyway, Richard hadn't needed to catch him, there was a safety mat in place, he would have been fine.

Richard looked up at him from his position on the ground, then got to his feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just... My arms went and I..."

"Let me see," the older boy said, reaching out for Dick who instinctively, and obviously, jerked away.

"No! That's alright, I'm fine!" He was well aware he was embarrassing himself, complicating the situation and destroying the calm and jovial atmosphere but it was like he couldn't stop himself. He saw that look seep back into Richard's blue eyes, the suspicious look from the bedroom.

"I was just trying to help you over, Dick. If you'd rather I didn't touch you-" he began.

"No!" Dick interrupted, wanting to stop his friend from thinking that way, because it was much too close to the truth. "It's fine, I know you were just helping, I just wasn't expecting it is all."

Richard didn't look like he believed it, and Dick couldn't blame him. He wouldn't have believed himself as he was acting then.

"I caught you because I didn't want you to dislocate your arm," he said in a steady, reassuring and convincing voice.

"I know, I know. Thanks," Dick babbled, his voice a little too high and too fast, his movements too quick and shaky. It wasn't like he hadn't had his arm dislocated before, he thought grimly.

Suddenly the boys were startled by a deeper, darker voice speaking from across the room.

"Dick." Bruce said authoritatively, coming towards them from the doorway, stepping over the bundles of plastic wrapping as if they weren't even there after they had given the teens so much trouble. The man's face was neutral, but Dick immediately put space between him and Richard, stepping forward to meet Bruce as if his guardian would attack the blonde if Dick didn't stop him – which was ridiculous, of course.

"It's getting late, Alfred's waiting to make dinner and you need to wash up before then," Bruce said, looking away from Richard and down at the boy before him. He put his hand down heavily on Dick's shoulder, and maybe it was the just the heat of the boy's own skin, flushed from the exercise, but the touch felt uncomfortably hot.

"O-okay," Dick agreed. He had a feeling of urgency, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He didn't like Bruce and Richard being in the same room, but he couldn't tell whether it was because he was afraid of what Bruce might reveal about him to Richard, or if it was something about the way Bruce looked at the blonde.

"Yeah, I should be getting home," Richard agreed, going to his bag and checking the time on his phone.

"Do you need a driver to take you home?" Bruce offered, but his eyes weren't kind.

"Oh, no it's okay, thanks, Mr Wayne," Richard replied, packing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Dick noticed Alfred move silently into the doorway. Richard smiled at Dick where he stood with Bruce, and added; "I'll see you at school on Monday then?"

"Uh, yeah, see you then," Dick answered, painfully aware of how Bruce was touching him, connecting them in front of Richard. It made him feel dirty because of all the other times Bruce had made him feel dirty, but it also embarrassed him, made him think he looked like a child in front of the older boy.

Richard made a move to go, and Alfred bowed him out of the room. Dick went to follow him, not wanting his friend to go, but Bruce wordlessly tightened his grip and kept his ward right where he was, with him.


	23. The Boy With A Box

Chapter 23: A Boy with a Box

He dreamt of his parents that night.

His mother putting on her night cream every evening before going to bed… His father as he struggled to help him with a math assignment that he didn't really understand himself… Their voices as they scolded him, praised him, laughed with him…

It was as if the sight of his Flying Graysons uniform opened a secret box inside himself; a box shut so tightly he didn't even notice it was there to begin with. He had felt no pain when he talked about his parents in front of Richard and no tears had come when he'd remembered their familiar faces. He felt wretched and ungrateful, but the truth was that he didn't _want _to open that box because it would only make him weaker, and weakness was something he couldn't afford here. He needed to be strong, to _survive_, or Bruce would immediately sense the opportunity like a bloodthirsty animal, and take advantage of it. His grief would be his downfall, so he tried to force the feelings back inside and close the box for now.

There would be time to open it later. Time when he would be safe and alone and miles away from his cruel master. It would be only then that he would allow himself to be crippled by grief and anger and thirst for revenge – Then he would avenge his parents' death even if it cost him his life _(revenge never solves anything, they wouldn't want me to destroy my life they wouldn't want me to-)._

But right now he had to be strong. He could sense Bruce circling him every day, preparing for an attack that would finish him once and for all, and strip him of what little he had left from his previous life - The Killing Blow, the move into checkmate that would destroy Dick Grayson and replace him with Dick Wayne, trap the boy permanently in a place so deep and dark there couldn't even be a glimmer of hope for escape. It was terrifying, because he knew his guardian could do it, could plan something like that so well that Dick would never be able to stop him. He would feel it coming, his breath coming faster, his heart racing, and then it would be done, something more horrible could ever have conceived would become his reality.

The feel of Bruce's hands on his skin… the taste of his come in his mouth… He knew better than anybody that he wasn't the victim of this story anymore, but the thought wasn't as shameful as it used to be. He would be able to get through this if only he kept reminding himself to stay strong. He needed to survive this and stay true to himself; a wounded animal that managed to drag itself into the light and find freedom and lead a happy life despite its misfortune.

'_I will get through this, I will get through this_.' he chanted in his head as he stared at the dark ceiling above his head. The lamp hiding a high tech camera stared right back, its round edges almost glowing in the dark, watching him like a loving parent watches their sick child... or like a vulture watches a man die of thirst in the dessert.

Nights like these were always the worst.

His hand formed a fist as he imagined taking the Grayson uniform out of its hiding place and into the bed; burying his face in the crumpled cold fabric and losing himself in memories of better times. However, the thought that Bruce would be able to see him in such a pathetic, vulnerable state was almost unbearable, absolutely unacceptable, and he forced himself to stay where he was and not move a muscle.

Slowly and carefully the box started to close itself once again, burying the pain and bittersweet memories deep within his very being. He was not the boy laughing and training with his parents… he was not the one standing tall and proud above the applauding masses of people with his mother clapping in happiness and his father ruffling his hair.

That was not him. That was another life.

What he had now was Bruce and Alfred and the darkness of Wayne Manor.

That was all.

0o0

Sunday morning, and the cold grey clouds behind the windows of the Breakfast Room forming into soft shapes and patterns. Dick stared down at his plate; the same expensive cutlery, the same orange juice he asked for each and every time, the same seat, the same ritual… He found the routine almost comforting. He liked to know what came next, though he knew full-well he never really did. He liked this routine though, because despite whatever else Bruce might do to him, the boy doubted his guardian would force Alfred to give him milk when he'd asked for orange juice. His morning drink was up to him, and that small amount of control was becoming more and more important.

"Thank you, Alfred." Dick murmured to the old butler, reminding himself to straighten up in his chair, making sure his posture was perfect and both of his elbows were off the table as was expected of him. The man on the other side of the table was looking at him with an approving gaze, and only after he saw Bruce take a sip of his coffee did Dick pick up the cutlery and start to eat.

Bruce didn't join him for breakfasts very often, but whenever he did the conversation was usually short, forced and felt like a subtle interrogation of some sort, with the man asking questions and the boy answering nervously. That weekend would be especially disorientating and confusing for him since he was going to spend most of it with his guardian, who he usually saw only once in every two or three days, and more often than not hidden by the shadows of the drawn curtains of the Forbidden Room.

'_What are you planning?'_ the boy thought desperately as he carefully watched the man read some print-outs from beneath his lashes. _'What do you want?'_

Dick was tired of seeing a threat everywhere he looked, trying to predict the next catastrophe that would come crashing down on his fragile everyday existence. What he needed was some peace and quiet to clear his mind and shake off his paranoid thoughts; a place where he could grieve without the humiliation of another human being seeing him in such a shameful state. That always used to calm him down and put things into perspective, but now that privacy had become a luxury he no longer possessed, Dick was a nervous mess that saw Bruce's manipulation and deceit even in the smallest tasks. If there were cameras in the room, who was to say they weren't all over the mansion? They probably were. And audio bugs too. His phone was probably bugged as well, and had some sort of GPS installed that let Bruce monitor his movements outside school. Or maybe there was a microchip in his clothes, somewhere on his school uniform or shirts... After all, Alfred washed and ironed them daily, so it would be easy to hide something in them without Dick's knowledge.

Or maybe it wasn't the clothes, the boy thought with his stomach filling with dread, or even on his phone, but somewhere under his own skin…

He'd heard about chips used as tracking devices on pets in case they got lost or ran away. Is that what he was now? A pet? He nervously scratched his shoulder, consciously aware of every inch of skin on his body. Where did they normally put those things? Was it on his neck, or maybe his stomach? Alfred could have easily

Injected him with the thing after the countless nights in the Forbidden Room... God knows he'd had enough access to the boy's body, and Dick had lost count of the number of times he'd been drugged, sedated either voluntarily or not.

But didn't it involve an operation of some sort? But Bruce could afford anything, he could even have had something implanted in his brain that allowed him to -

"Dick, stop it."

He glanced up sharply at the low voice coming from across the table and blinked at his guardian in surprise. It took him several full seconds to realize one of his fingers was positioned between his lips with his teeth painfully clutching the nail and the delicate skin in between. He immediately lowered his hand with a feeling of confusion.

"Ah, I'm sorry."

The finger started to bleed and he quickly took out one of the ornamental napkins by his side and discreetly wrapped it around the wound. The blood slowly soaked through the fabric and he put his hand on his knees while reaching for his glass of juice with the other.

The only thing that seemed to calm him down these days was Richard, and Dick focused his thoughts on his friend and the way he smiled when he'd watched him perform in the gym. _'I'm officially impressed.'_ Dick repeated the words in his head and the way Richard laughed and joked around as they unwrapped the mats and carried them off. He couldn't wait to see his friend (and the word itself already calmed him down enough to be able to take a drink of the juice) in school on Monday and hoped Richard would want to eat lunch with him again. He didn't think he had enough confidence to ask him to eat together himself just yet.

The bleeding stopped fairly quickly. Dick swiftly brought the finger back to his lips and sucked at it, making sure to get rid of all the leftover blood as fast as he could. The coppery taste of his blood reminded him of the painful nights in his life and he automatically glanced up at the main protagonist of all of his nightmares and hate filled fantasies of revenge.

And Bruce's blue eyes stared right back at him.

Dick leaned back in surprise and quickly looked away, but not before noticing how dark his guardian's gaze seemed to get and how his eyes were glued to Dick lips around the bloody finger. The boy immediately put both of his hands on his knees and stared down at his unfinished meal in silence. He didn't want to look up for the fear that Bruce was still staring, and the tension that seemed to suddenly accumulate in the large room made his skin shiver with pure animalistic fear. He felt a strong need to disrupt the silence and hide his fear behind words and so he opened his mouth to speak.

"What… are your plans for today?"

He was glad that his voice showed none of the uncertainty and fear that he felt on the inside as he said the first thing that came to his mind. There was a split second when Bruce seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but then his answer came almost immediately, cold, indifferent and uninterested.

"Wayne Shipping, and a meeting with the head of the police department."

"Because of the Joker attack?"

Looking back at his papers, the Wayne heir nodded wordlessly.

"Wayne Industries is funding the repairs. The police need to get back on their feet as soon as they can," he explained after a while.

Feeling less threatened with the conversation rolling, Dick picked up the cutlery again and started to cut some of the leftover tomatoes on the plate. "It's because there's been no sign of Batman since the attack right? Maybe he was badly injured…"

"Or just scared." Bruce sneered with disdainful expression on his face. Dick remembered how his guardian seemed to hate Batman, and felt his heart start to beat faster at the words, and his grip on the knife tightened with anger.

"I doubt that. If Batman was afraid for his own safety he would have stopped helping people a long time ago."

He was alarmed at the open aggression of his own voice and Bruce seemed to mirror his surprise. The tension from before returned tenfold and Dick once again turned back towards his unfinished meal and started to push the food around the plate.

He wasn't sure if he'd crossed the line with the comment and already regretted saying his thoughts out loud. However, there was something about Batman that opened something deep within him and made him want to bite back; something that made him believe that decency, pride and morals were still things he could call his own. If Batman could fight impossible odds to obtain justice, then Dick felt he shouldn't give up hope. It could happen for him too.

"What about you?" Bruce asked after a long pause. Dick blinked in surprise at the question, not expecting the other man to speak so soon after his little outburst. He straightened up in his chair in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"What are your plans for today?"

"Oh, er... I guess I wanted to do some training in the new gym. And some studying, of course," he added quickly, not knowing what the expressionless man wanted to hear. "I should start thinking about what to pack for the school trip as well."

"Don't you leave on Wednesday?" Bruce asked.

"Yes, Wednesday at nine o'clock. I just… Well, this is going to be my first time on a trip and I don't know what to pack…"

"That's right." Bruce leaned forward against the table and looked down at him with a small smile. "You need to prepare properly for this trip. We should go and buy you some clothes and perhaps a sports bag or two."

"W-well, I don't think I need anything new, I mean we'll be staying at a hotel and we're only going there to see some Shakespeare plays… The clothes I have now should be enough."

"Dick."

The man looked at him with a face of an owner that was helping a particularly clumsy puppy out of a box.

"You should learn to _accept_ when I'm offering. I like giving you things."

Almost without thinking, Dick's hand found itself clasped against his lips again, his teeth biting away at raw skin that started to bleed from the reopened wound. His mind was screaming at him that whatever Bruce did always had hidden motives; plans within plans that he could never hope to follow or predict. And as always, the question arose in his mind, were Bruce's gifts compensation for the abuse the man put him through? Advance payment for the next time? Or was the Wayne heir simply so rich that all this stuff was just a drop in the ocean, that they barely registered on Bruce's bank statements, that, in the end, they were meaningless?

"Dick, stop it. When did you start biting your nails?"

"Ah, I don't… know." The boy answered warily as he repeated the previous process and wrapped the already bloodied napkin around his finger. The wound started to sting almost immediately and he wondered why he hadn't felt the pain before.

He really needed more sleep. The torturous memories of his parents kept him awake the whole night and he couldn't wait to retire to his room for a small nap, hoping that maybe he'd be able to sleep better if it wasn't so _dark_, in his room or in his head.

The black haired boy stared at the piece of fabric being slowly coated with even more of his blood. He wondered if Alfred would be able to get it off. But then again, he had no problem getting it off the boy's clothes, Dick thought bitterly to himself.

There was a soft sigh and the sound of a chair moving, and when Dick glanced up Bruce was walking over to his side of the table. The shock of seeing the predator suddenly so close made his heart freeze up in fear, but he consciously controlled the impulse to flee and remained where he was, not moving an inch. He wondered how long it would be before he was so used up and jaded that he lost the desire to escape.

Dick glanced up, straining his neck to meet the tall man's gaze. Without a word, Bruce grabbed his injured hand and lifted it up for inspection. Dick felt his bones ache at the awkward position of his arm but he didn't voice his discomfort. Bruce's grip wasn't as harsh as it could have been.

"It's a disgusting habit," The man said with a low voice. Dick nodded in agreement; he never used to be one of those children that bit their nails or ever felt the need to. He wondered at his strange behaviour.

The man was still holding his hand and Dick looked away at the uncomfortable atmosphere; he wanted to pull his hand away but knew that Bruce's hold was strong enough to keep it there by force. He assumed the man was using his other hand to support his leaning figure on the table, and so he flinched in surprise when he felt something lightly brush against his cheekbones and forehead. Bruce's fingers brushed away the boy's dark bangs and lifted them up as if examining their length or texture in detail. After a few of these strange caresses, his voice from above Dick stated softly,

"Your hair has gotten quite long."

Dick resisted the urge to grab his bangs and check himself but he supposed that Bruce was right. He had been having trouble with his fringe lately, and it must have been at least half a year since Alfred had last cut his hair on a stool in the kitchen. He could still remember the moment quite clearly, with Alfred standing over him and politely asking him to lift his head, his faded blue eyes concentrating behind wire spectacles, and his cool, wrinkled fingers confidently snipping through his hair.

"Alfred can cut it again." Dick suggested with a small voice. The current hand in his hair, that of the younger man and master of the house, tightened its hold at the words, as if considering something. Dick felt shivers of repulsion at the contact.

"No," spoke Bruce suddenly. "Now that everyone knows you're mine, there's no reason for you not to go to a proper hairdresser. You have nice hair, it would be a shame not to."

Bruce looked down at him as if thinking something over and then let out a soft sigh and moved his hand away. As he straightened up from the table, he appeared taller than ever. "I suppose Wayne Shipping can wait for today," the man said, having decided.

Dick watched helplessly as Bruce started to walk away towards the doors, once again deciding everything for him without any questions or discussions. His figure leaving the room appeared as uncompromising as his words.

"Go and change into something nice, we're going into town."

0o0

"Something nice," Dick mumbled to himself as he stood in his walk-in closet with his hands nervously burrowed in his pockets. He knew very well that the moment the two of them hit the streets there would be people recognizing them, and then reporters would inevitably show up and there would be photos, gossip columns and media trouble involved.

So he had to wear something _nice_. He had to look good, because _Bruce_ had to look good. Normally, it wouldn't matter what he put on, because as soon as Bruce saw it he would kindly suggest something else, and Dick would end up dressed in what his guardian wanted anyway. But the illusion of choice was something the older man loved to dangle in front of his ward, making the boy go through the motions of what he knew was a farce.

As always he had trouble understanding Bruce's motives; what did he want to gain by their little outing? He could have the right clothes delivered any time with a single phone call and Alfred was more than capable of giving him a proper haircut. No, there had to be something else involved. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him but with the anti-Wayne protestations that had been flaring up recently - maybe Bruce wanted to soften the heart of the people with some cheesy father/son bonding immortalized in some gossip article or newspaper.

It would be so much easier to prepare and defend himself if he understood his guardian. However, Bruce Wayne was an eternal enigma; a mask covering a mask covering a mask.

The master wasn't meant to be understood… only obeyed.

Dick quickly undressed with a frown.

He should concentrate on the issue at hand, which was to pick a combination of clothes that his guardian considered 'nice' - something that at least looked like he had made an effort. Dick didn't have a particular fashion sense himself and didn't really bother with picking his clothes since most of the time he wore a uniform anyway. He didn't know if he was supposed to be copying Bruce and wearing something proper and formal, or if he was supposed to finally make use of the high-fashion brands and dress like one of the teen heart-throb It-boys who were in all the magazines. He certainly had enough suits in the closet to dress his entire class, and enough drawers of baffling accessories to keep a dozen boy-bands happy for months. If it was up to him he would wear his usual outfit of jeans, t-shirt and sports jacket, however something told him that this was a special occasion and that Bruce wouldn't approve.

What a ridiculous dilemma.

In the end he decided on a compromise that consisted of a neutral-looking pair of dark, designer jeans and a formal black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. By undoing the first two buttons on the collar he was able to breathe much better, and as he faced his reflection in the full length mirror he was satisfied with what he saw. The dark clothes made him look more mature and competent and he stood up straighter as he observed his mirror double, trying to absorb confidence from the image.

The pale face in front of him was a far cry from the smiling visage of his childhood. It was a guarded face, suspicious and tired, but with a fight in it that could become dangerous. The green eyes didn't sparkle, preferring instead to watch from behind his black fringe, and the cheeks were not rosy, but slimmed down and severe. It was hard to say if he was better looking now than before, because while he was fashionably dressed with a heroin-chic, almost gothic face, the reflection in the mirror wasn't anyone you would want to approach. Maybe it wasn't just his status that had kept him from making friends at the Academy. Scowling at the mirror and tilting his face, he realised how weird he must look standing next to the blond, sunny Richard.

He turned away from the mirror and dug in the nearest drawer for something to lighten the tone of his outfit. He pushed aside various badges, rings and sweatbands, and eventually pulled out a simple silver chain that he fastened around his wrist. It still had a small black label on it, but the name meant nothing to him and he threw it back in the drawer after snapping it off.

He looked again at his reflection. In the end, he would rather go out in black than in bright colours and risk drawing even more attention to himself than what he was already going to get from walking beside the Prince of Gotham. Dick tore his eyes away from the depressing image to grab one of the jackets without a hood and put it on. One last glance thrown at the cameras in the ceiling and he was out of the room, walking down the stairs, conjuring a map of the Wayne Manor in his mind in order to locate the garage, where he assumed Bruce would be after not finding the man in the hall. The times he needed to find his way downstairs could be counted on one hand since his chauffeurs always waited in front of the main entrance, but Dick made sure to remember every hallway and room in the house in order to find the fastest way out of any location under any circumstances. His fantasies full of desperate or heroic escapes were just that... fantasies; dreams full of strategies that he never had the guts to put into practice. You can't escape Bruce Wayne.

Dick continued walking through the empty halls.

Just as he was about to make his way down the staircase in the main hall, a familiar portrait caught his attention and he unwillingly slowed down his steps until he came to a full stop. The two pairs of eyes stared into his own with smiling faces, and Dick couldn't understand how people like them could create somebody like Bruce. They looked so nice, and normal, whereas Bruce was...

'_But of course that's not the issue here, is it?'_ his mind answered back in a smug tone. _'It's the fact that they were murdered in front of his very eyes that created Bruce. It was their __**absence**__.'_

Was it?

Dick glared hatefully at the happy couple, possibly the only happy people in the entire house, and continued his way underground, his hand playing with the black collar that was sticking out from beneath his jacket. How can they keep looking so happy and respectable while he was suffering in the mess they left behind before he was even born? They should have been more careful, or arrange something in case both of them got hurt like that…

'_They were murdered,'_ he reminded himself. _'They had no control over the situation. Exactly like what happened to my parents.'_

The knuckle of his finger found its way inside his mouth and it was only after two or three sharp bites that he realized what he was doing. His feet led him to the right place while his mind was trying to force the memories back inside the box before he completely lost it and ruined himself.

He didn't draw blood and for that he was grateful. He put both of his hands into his jeans before he could do any more damage to his already stinging skin and walked through the last corridor that led to the spacious garage. He glared through the darkness, trying to see which car Bruce picked for their outing. He didn't find it strange that the man seemed to prefer the dark; very few things surprised him about his guardian these past few weeks. The man was capable of anything, he had come to understand that much at least.

"Bruce?" he called into the darkness.

There was a silence for a few seconds and then,

"Here."

Walking in the direction of the voice, Dick spotted one of the Mercedes Benz parked near the back door. His guardian was waiting for him with eyes that seemed to almost glow in the darkness of the garage.

"Get in."

**0o0**

**0o0**

**0o0**

_**AmberSpirit**__: So I was sort of disappointed at the lack of song suggestions for this fic but I guess you guys don't really obsessively create playlists for your favourite pairings like I do. So since only few of you shared you're the Boy In The Manor songs, I'm gonna share mine. Feel free to check them out on youtube!_

_**Archive**__-Fuck You (for Dick)_

_**Young Heretics**__-I know I'm a wolf (for Bruce)_

_**Perfect circle**__- Pet (for Bruce)_

_**Massive attack**__- Paradise Circus _

_**Aqualung**__- Something to believe in (Richard/Dick)_

_**Guano Apes**__- Don't you turn your back on me _

_**Radiohead**__- All I need_

_And of course the song I have for about 50 percent of my pairings:_

**Placebo**_-My sweet prince_

_There you go, this is the playlist I have for this fic (although for this chapter I really just listened to Paradise Circus). _

_Hope you all had a great Christmas!_


	24. The Wayne Boy

Chapter 24: The Wayne Boy

It was odd for Bruce Wayne to drive himself anywhere, Dick thought. It was odd, really, for a man with the economy of the eastern seaboard resting on his shoulders to go out at all with a fourteen year old boy as his only companion. Shouldn't he have a bodyguard or something? The more Dick thought about it, the more he was surprised that the US military didn't loan Bruce his very own Secret Service for his little shopping trips. A stray bullet to the head, caught on the rough, violent streets of Gotham, and America could lose _wars_. But then, Dick rationalised, a company like Wayne Industries wouldn't rely on just one man. There were undoubtedly various Boards of Directors and other underlings that would keep things running if they had to. After all, when was the last time Bruce Wayne actually invented anything, or contributed anything to society other than his pocket change?

But still, Dick thought the lack of a chauffeur or guard of any kind was strange. Even if Bruce didn't die accidentally, his odds of being kidnapped for ransom or assassinated for whatever reason was unquestionably higher than the average man's. He supposed it was the short-notice of the trip, but with Bruce's fleet of suited drivers, surely one of them would jump for his master? Wasn't Bruce himself concerned?

Dick thought back to all the nights Bruce had used his impossible strength against _him_, and all the strange cuts and bruises he'd glimpsed from time to time on the man's skin, and thought maybe Bruce could defend _himself_ after all. The playboy thing was just an act anyway, a mask. Maybe Bruce didn't _need_ a bodyguard, or servants to drive him everywhere and tie his shoelaces for him. The fact that Dick couldn't say for sure just forced him to accept once again that he still didn't really know anything about his guardian, that the man was always shrouded in mysteries and secrets and contradictions that Dick wasn't allowed to penetrate.

Or maybe Bruce was driving them himself because he wanted some private bonding time with his ward. Ha.

"Dick, stop that," Bruce said, unexpectedly breaking the silence. The man was frowning as he watched the road. Dick only then realised he was biting his nails again. He stopped.

"Sorry."

Dick didn't ask where they were going. Bruce had said they were going shopping, and so all Dick had to do was to wait to be taken. They sat in silence in the silver Mercedes as it purred gently through the city streets, riding on the roads as if it was driving on perfumed air.

"I called ahead to let them know we were coming," Bruce spoke again after a moment. "So everything should be ready for you when we get there."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," the boy replied politely but without enthusiasm. He didn't like the sound of that, it sounded like this was going to be some kind of big deal – not for Bruce, of course, but for everyone else. Dick had known better than to expect a casual stroll down the high street, but he had at least hoped to avoid the Prince of Gotham treatment that was normally reserved for Bruce, but that was being increasingly extended to his ward as well, as if he really was his son. Dick supposed he shouldn't blame the rest of the world for not knowing what the truth of what went on behind the walls of Wayne Manor was; he hadn't seen it coming either.

The car turned and sunk effortlessly into an almost invisible entrance to an underground car park beside the city's most expensive and prestigious department store, Goldworth's. The front of the building was all sandstone and alabaster, with gold leaf appearing after the first few stories where robbers couldn't reach it. In the summer, it shone like a Pharaoh's palace, but in the winter, it stood like a grim temple to the elitism of wealth, reminding regular people of the stubborn refusal of the upper class to become like them. The store assistants spent years in training, and would turn you away if you didn't make the cut, even if you were looking to buy. It was the kind of place that sold make-up, perfume and jewellery on the first-floor counters, where you could pay hundreds of dollars for a pot of something smaller than an apple cut in half.

And this was where Dick was going.

There was already a concierge waiting for them when they got out of the car, smiling odiously and folding his gloved hands together as if he could smell the money.

"Mr Wayne, welcome! We are very glad to have you here today," he said, bowing them to the elevator. Dick noticed he never quite came out of it, as if he just couldn't bring himself to stand up straight in Bruce's presence.

"Thank you, Jeffries," Bruce said, leading Dick past the man with an arm around his shoulder.

The small group boarded an elevator with a golden, Art Deco design, probably an artefact from the roaring Twenties, the age of skyscrapers and city life, when everything was going up and nothing could go wrong. Dick wondered how many people in the city knew what this elevator looked like from personal experience. He wondered if Richard knew, if Richard's family had ever qualified as close enough to Bruce Wayne's stratosphere to ride in it.

They got off on the fourth floor, and Dick stepped out into a soft world of cashmere, silk and shag carpeting, everything cast into a milky gold colour by carefully chosen lights. Across the floor, the other attendants waited smilingly for them in front of a large mirror that could be positioned to reflect its viewer from any angle. There was no one else on the entire floor, and Dick realised what Bruce had meant when he'd said they'd be "ready for him": they had kicked everybody else out.

"Dick, really, if you don't stop doing that, I'm going to have to do something about it. It's a disgusting and childish habit. I thought you were better than that," Bruce said, and once again, Dick had to pull his finger out of his mouth. He told himself he wasn't going to let himself do it again. He didn't want to find out what 'something' Bruce would do to make him stop if he didn't. But he still frowned at the pressure put on him and the disappointment implied by Bruce's last comment.

Dick lowered his head, the kind of entitlement required by Goldworth's not having been bred into him, and let himself be absorbed into the welcoming arms of the money-making machine to be wrung out for every penny.

"Are you looking for anything particular today?" Jeffries asked Bruce over the top of Dick's head, having replaced his guardian's arm with his own hands, ready to accept and steer the boy as need be.

"Dick has a school trip coming up, so he's going to need several suits for the theatre, as well as various practical items like luggage and so on. Maybe some pyjamas as well," Bruce replied, and Dick cringed at the thought of bringing "several" suits with him to New Carthage, the city in New York the class was visiting.

"Right you are, Sir, we are well equipped for every occasion at Goldworth's," the concierge replied, but halfway through the man's sentence, Bruce's phone had begun to ring and he excused himself to answer it. The billionaire simply turned his back and walked away after holding up a finger as explanation.

"Yes?... What did you say?... No, I'm not coming in for a couple of hours, I'm being held up by a personal matter."

Dick grit his teeth at his guardian's words. This shopping trip was his idea, and now he's going to act like Dick is inflicting it on him? Social things were of no interest to Bruce, and neither was Dick when it came to everyday life – the boy already understood this, Bruce didn't need to keep reminding him.

"What do you mean they're not sure about the contract? I got them to sign it myself!... Why not?... You did what?"

Dick watched as Jeffries' face turned sour for just a flicker of a second after being ignored, but then he turned back to Dick, sycophantic smile screwed back in place, and said condescendingly, "Well, then! Let's take your measurements, shall we?" and drove the boy into the waiting arms of the other attendants.

There were more servers than could possibly be necessary, but they had closed the floor for Bruce, so they had spare hands, and had to be seen to be making their every effort for him, even if he was across the room with his back to them. Jeffries was a trim man who looked to be in his fifties, who seemed like he'd been doing this his whole life and took pride in his job, and the only personal comments he ever made at work lamented how standards had fallen in both the profession and the clientele. There was another, slightly younger man, who Dick judged to be a tailor from the measuring tape he had slung around his neck and the pin cushion strapped to his wrist. Then there were three women who were obviously meant to be pretty and obliging shop girls, though Dick guessed their ages at late-twenties and one in her mid-thirties. The men wore three piece suits, and the women had skirts and waistcoats over a white shirt, and they all had the air of professionals.

It was the tailor who interacted with him first. He came forward and imperially ordered Dick to hold his arms out for measuring. This man wore old fashioned half-moon spectacles, and barely looked at Dick as the measuring tape zipped around his upper body.

"Do you have preferences for cut and material, or shall we use Mr Wayne's?" he said, and the way his glasses forced him to look down his nose to read the measurements made Dick think of an eagle or a vulture.

"Er, Mr Wayne's," Dick replied, not having the faintest idea about formal wear. As much as he didn't want to look like a little Bruce-clone, he wanted this to be quick and easy, and letting them use what they already had on the books facilitated that. Dick also had to admit that nine times out of ten, Bruce was impeccably dressed, and that one time left over would be when the man wasn't wearing a suit.

The tailor nodded at the women who had been reading his measurements over the man's shoulder, and they flitted away, striding over the floor to gather up jackets, shirts and trousers. Apparently, they could dress Dick off the top of their heads.

Bruce wondered back over, still on the phone, and leant against a table at the edge of the work station that had been prepared for them. He folded his free arm across his chest as he watched Dick being worked on.

"Two-point-three is too much, I said one-point-nine was as high as we're going... I don't care, the Chinese market is on the brink of collapse, without us it's only a matter of time," he said.

Dick was handed the various elements of a suit by one of the smiling women, who was actually quite pretty when he saw her up close, and she directed him to a little curtained changing-booth that stood off to the side.

"Ah!" Bruce made a sudden objectionary noise, and every head in the room whipped to look at him. "He can change out here," he said, having placed his hand over the mouthpiece of his mobile before returning to his business call. "No, trust me on this, I know him, he's going to fold..."

Dick's cheeks burned. There was no reason for this – none that Dick could see anyway. It was just for Bruce's convenience, his pleasure, to humiliate his ward and exercise his power over him. The attendants looked back at Dick in surprise, waiting to see what he would do. It was strange for a teenage boy to undress in public, in front of the opposite sex; they recognised that, and they were certainly wondering about Bruce's whim as well, but these people were on the billionaire's side, Dick understood that very well. No one would help him against Bruce Wayne and his _money_.

But surely it wouldn't be such a huge crime to walk the small distance to the changing pod and ensconce himself behind the curtain? Bruce wouldn't come after him while in the middle of a business call, would he? Not when it would risk a scandal if any of the attendants mentioned Bruce's parenting skills to any of their other elite customers. Dick might _think_ he could win this battle, that he could openly disobey his guardian by refusing to strip in front of him, but he _knew_, had learned from bitter experience, that he would pay for it later. If he rebelled against Bruce, he would be punished again, and the memory of his last punishment still burned in his blood and made him clench his hands in the expensive fabric.

Dick didn't want to be punished again so he would do what Bruce said. There weren't any other options. He suddenly felt like – or was reminded that he was – an animal in a cage. He wanted to throw himself against the sides and growl and roar and fight, but he knew he couldn't escape, and all it would earn him would be the whip. Dick felt so claustrophobic that he had to focus on calming himself down before he did something stupid. He breathed deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and detached himself from the situation.

So he was undressing in front of strangers, it was no big deal, he was probably never going to see them again anyway, he told himself as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt, barely aware of his surroundings anymore. He blinded himself to the soft cream and gold of the room, and deafened himself to the awkward silence between the attendants and Bruce's voice as he continued his phone call.

These people were professionals, his body would reveal nothing new to them, they wouldn't care. If his faded yellow bruises even registered with them, the boy doubted they'd think anything of them, not like Richard, who'd kept asking and asking and caring. Yeah, Richard, the gymnastics team, he'd undressed in front of them without feeling humiliated, wasn't this just the same thing?

He pulled off his black shirt and quickly replaced it with the white one that was to go with the suit, careful not to look at himself and his disgrace reflected from every angle in the mirror. Without buttoning it, he undid his jeans, and stepped out of them, shaking out the suit trousers before putting them on. He dressed himself quickly and efficiently, his frustration only visible in the harsh jerks he made on the belt as he was tightening it, his tie as he tightened it around his neck, and his sleeves as he tugged them up his arms.

He was soon standing, waiting for the next step, wearing thousands of dollars. Dick surveyed his reflection; he had to admit the suit looked very good. The attendants were slow to react, perhaps afraid of the furious aura Dick was projecting, or of the apparent irrationality of the Wayne heir.

Dick turned and glared at the tailor. "Well?" he snapped, and they all flocked to him immediately, rushing to accommodate him the way they would Bruce. Dick instantly felt bad, he didn't want to be like Bruce and he didn't want to scare people and treat them like dirt... but part of him liked it. He liked the efficiency of being in charge and giving orders, and he liked the security that came with power. He could control these people and therefore they couldn't hurt him.

The women tugged on the fabric, smoothed and dusted it as if it hadn't been carefully kept in perfect condition, while the tailor took measurements and made notes.

"What do you think, Sir?" Dick heard Jeffries sycophantic voice say, and he looked over his shoulder to see if Bruce would approve it.

His guardian was studying him carefully, looking him up and down, and Dick kept very still, wanting it to be only the suit Bruce saw, and not him.

"Hmm, I don't know... What else do you have?" Bruce replied at last, triggering a frenzy of suit-fetching. Dick tried on at least five, always swinging between those two violent extremes of being naked and vulnerable in front of the shop employees, and being the rich customer, heir to Bruce Wayne, who could have them fired by the end of the day if they displeased him. By the time Bruce was ready to come away, having ordered three suits to be delivered to the manor, Dick was exhausted.

But the day was not over. They spent another hour looking at luggage, and after that Dick spent half an hour trying to keep Bruce from buying him any more obscenely expensive, pointless accessories, and failing most of the time.

By the time they returned to the car and got rid of Jeffries, Dick felt almost physically sick by the amount of money that had been spent on him, but he supposed it was a drop in the ocean for Bruce, and that at least his guardian gave a hundred times the amount to charity every few months. The man seemed pleased with how the day had gone, obviously thinking he had done well and that Dick would be made happy by it all, when he couldn't be further from the truth.

They drove back to the manor in silence, the sun setting on the city and casting the street level into darkness while the sky glowed orange, as if beyond the skyscrapers and slums there was some shining promised land just out of sight, and for Dick, thoroughly out of reach.

When they reached the estate and pulled up in front of the house, Alfred was waiting for them by the open door. He didn't talk to Dick, but waited for Bruce to come into speaking distance as they ascended the steps.

"Master Bruce, Mr D'Allurio is waiting in the kitchen," Alfred informed him, taking the man's coat and folding it over his arm.

"Thank you, Alfred. Come on, Dick." Bruce walked into the house.

The boy followed him, wondering who Mr D'Allurio was and what he had to do with him. Bruce pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen and stepped to the side, exposing to Dick a man he'd never seen before, dressed fashionably and holding a comb and some scissors in his hands while waiting behind one of the stools that stood by the kitchen island. On the counter a mirror had been set up, and there was a variety of combs and scissors lid out around it.

Of course, the hair cut.

"Here he is, _Senor_," Bruce said, "I'll leave him in your capable hands, I have some business to attend to." Bruce was as charming and unavailable as always, and casually stepped out of the room before the door had even swung shut.

Dick and the hairdresser looked at each other for a moment, then the boy stepped forward awkwardly, as the man smiled and pulled out a stool for him.

"I am Santos D'Allurio, it is nice to meet you, young Richard Grayson, and may I say, what an honour to be personally requested by the Wayne family," the man said with a thick accent that gave the impression that he could barely speak English, even though his vocabulary was quite fluent. Dick hadn't heard of him before, but he knew he must be famous. Bruce would have gotten the best, even to cut his abused and surly ward's hair, and it really said something about how much getting the best mattered to Bruce for him to do this. Bruce must have thrown hundreds or even maybe thousands of dollars at D'Allurio to get the best hairdresser in a city like Gotham to make a last minute house call for some kid.

That being said, the man was trying to be friendly and entertaining, so as Dick slid onto the stool in front of him, he made an attempt at the little Spanish he knew, remembering that Bruce had called D'Allurio "Senor".

"_De nada_," the boy said shyly in response to the man's flattery.

Already D'Allurio's fingers were brushing through his hair quickly, his stylist's mind at work.

"Actually, little Sir, I am Italian, not Spanish," the hairdresser replied without sounding offended.

But Dick was still embarrassed. "Oh, sorry." Had Bruce honestly made a mistake, or had he done it on purpose to reinforce his dopey, disinterested playboy persona in front of the stylist? Dick was inclined to say the latter, but either way, he should have known better than to believe _anything_ Bruce said.

"So, what would you like done today?" D'Allurio asked.

"Oh, er..." Dick hadn't really thought about it, he hadn't had time, he'd been kept so busy. What did he think would look nice? He didn't really know anything about haircuts and what suited his face-shape and all that, all he knew was that the fringe was getting too long and in the way. In the end he decided to leave it to the professional.

"Whatever you think looks best, I guess," he said unsurely, and saw the man smile in the reflection in the mirror.

"Come, come, a fine young man such as yourself should have _strong opinions_, no? You want to look good for the girls and the cameras, I think? So tell me, long, or short? Centre-parting, side-parting?..." He obviously thought he was being teasing and jovial, but he was so wrong. Dick wasn't allowed 'strong opinions', girls were the last thing on his mind, and Bruce took care of when and where his picture was taken. Dick wasn't like other boys his age.

"Um, okay, how about short at the back and sides... Maybe a bit longer on top, with some bangs? With a side-parting? You know, so it looks a bit messy, but still... good."

"Ahhh, I know, I know," D'Allurio replied. "I shall make you look very handsome," he continued with a friendly wink.

Dick couldn't laugh with him, and they didn't speak anymore as the stylist worked, employing electric clippers and neat little snips to get the look Dick had asked for. The boy watched in the mirror, and corrected or instructed the stylist as necessary. He didn't know what he was looking for, but as his hair fell away and began to take new shape, he thought it was starting to look _right_. D'Allurio was soon dusting hair off Dick's shoulders and neck with a soft brush.

"There you go, Mr Grayson, we have finished. Would you like to see?" D'Allurio sounded pleased with his work, and handed Dick a mirror. The boy looked at himself and tugged at the longer locks hanging in front of his face.

"Thanks, it's good, I like it," Dick mumbled, trying to look like he matched the Italian's enthusiasm when he didn't.

The man nodded with a smile and began packing away his tools. Dick hovered for a moment to be polite, before giving up and escaping the room, deciding to let Alfred handle the rest. He jogged up to his room and moved around the suite aimlessly for a minute or two, wanting to be alone but not really having anything to do. He went to his bathroom and thoroughly ruffled his new hair, dislodging any remaining bristles. He pushed around his fringe, trying it first one way then the other, playing with it. He decided he did like it; he was quite proud of his new hair.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he spotted the light fitting in the reflection of the room, and stilled. Of course he knew the cameras were there, he hadn't forgotten, but knowing he was being watched, probably recorded, for God knows what reason – be it security, paranoia, perversion or just for some kind of sadistic fun – made it very difficult for him to do anything in his room. He went to his closet and grabbed the clothes he'd been wearing that morning to change into for dinner. It was a feeble and meaningless attempt to reassert his independence, putting on the clothes he'd picked out himself before Bruce asked him to change, but he wanted to do it anyway. He went next door to an abandoned study to do it though.

He went downstairs before Alfred came up to call him for dinner, knowing exactly when that would be as the man ran the house like a grandfather clock. He sat down at the table while Alfred laid the final touches on the setting. Bruce walked in, hanging up his phone as he did so, and only looked at Dick once he was comfortably settled in his chair.

And when he did look, he glanced at Dick's hair then seemed to do a double-take, and stare at it for a moment as if trying to figure something unpleasant out. Dick thought his guardian's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and that he had gone very still.

Dick hurriedly looked at his plate, terror rising in his throat. _Oh no, oh no, he's angry, why? Why? I haven't done anything, what have I done?_ His eyes flicked from side to side as he tried desperately to remember something that could be the cause of Bruce's anger, but he couldn't. He'd done everything the man had asked of, he'd got his hair cut, he'd gone shopping, he'd even undressed in front of a room full of people for him, for Christ's sake! What could it be? It seemed of utmost importance to figure out what the problem was so that he could maybe defuse it, fix it, undo it, apologise, somehow avoid Bruce's wrath. In his head, he knew it was pointless, futile to try to understand or reason with Bruce. He knew it was already too late, that if Bruce was angry with him, punishment _would_ come, but he couldn't stop himself. It was instinctive to try to fight the pain he knew was coming. No matter how many nights, how many rapes, assaults and attacks he had been subjected to, when the fear came he always tried to escape, and it never worked, never. And every time his failure broke his heart.

"So..." Bruce began ominously, and Dick's eyes immediately flicked up to look at him, to keep the predator in his sights and search for some kind of key in his face, but Bruce wasn't looking at him, he was laying his napkin in his lap. "That's the style you asked D'Allurio for, is it?"

Dick's mind spun away from him having finally been given a direction to look in. It was the hair, Bruce had a problem with his hair, but what should he do, should he lie? What did Bruce want to hear? The truth was almost certainly a mistake, but he couldn't lie, Bruce always knew when he was lying and when Dick was caught in it, it just made things worse.

"...Yes," Dick replied hesitantly.

Bruce nodded with a sour look as if Dick had just confirmed his thoughts and subsequent course of action. "I hadn't realised you thought so much of the Rawn boy," he said, as Alfred began laying out the dinner, the old man casting a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye at Dick.

'The Rawn boy'? Richard? What did he have to do with this and Dick's new hair? But then the boy realised as he tugged on a lock of his fringe, that his new style _was_ actually very similar to Richard's hair. He hadn't thought of it himself, he had just told D'Allurio to cut it the way he thought it would look nice, but he understood now just _where_ he had gotten the style from. How could he not have realised? How could he have dug his own grave like this?

"I, I didn't mean to... I just..." Dick's fear strangled him, he couldn't find the words to deny what his guardian had assumed, and Bruce's piercing ice-blue eyes, boring into him from across the table until he could feel the focus of their gaze on him like a crosshair made speaking impossible. For a moment, there was silence between them.

Then Bruce stood up, his sudden movement knocking his wooden chair over with a loud crash, but the man looked unperturbed by the noise, his external facade as calm and determined as ever.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Alfred neatly stopped laying out the food and stepped back from the table, looking steadfastly at the floor, rendering himself deaf and blind to what was about to happen as his master would wish him to.

Dick understood immediately what the man intended. The subconscious thought of another in his ward's head was intolerable to the Wayne heir, a disobedience, an ingratitude that couldn't be allowed. Dick needed to be punished, he needed to be corrected, he needed to be _taught_.

The boy shrunk instinctively into his chair which could offer him no protection at all from the raging billionaire.

"No, please, it was an accident, I'll change it, I didn't even realise...!" Dick begged as Bruce stormed down the table, even more enraged after his command was not followed.

The monster reached him, grabbed his arm and hauled him out of his chair. Dick continued to plead with him, but he didn't try to fight him off, as he knew very well that Bruce could return any punch with a devastating force.

He was dragged out of the room and up the stairs to the forbidden room.

OoO

Several hours later, once night had fallen and Dick had cleaned himself up and gathered his emotions together enough to function, he crept downstairs. He hadn't seen or heard anything from Bruce after being discarded in the forbidden room, and he didn't expect to see the man again that night. Even though his body was still hurting, he moved as silently as a ghost through the mansion already filled with horrors, heading to the kitchen. He was hungry. It had been a hard day, and he hadn't eaten since lunch.

He pushed into the swinging door and stopped. There was already a ghost in there.

Alfred stood in the dark by the sink, seeming to glow from the waist up as the moonlight came in through the window he was looking through at the Wayne grounds. The old man was just standing there, perfectly still, his hands on the counter, looking out at everything Bruce owned. He must have gotten lost in thought there hours ago and never returned. To look at him, Dick thought that it was wrong somehow that he _couldn't_ see through the butler, and he considered that, in a way, the old man was also a prisoner of Bruce Wayne, held in place by an affection for dead parents and a child that didn't exist anymore, a child that had been replaced by a man who had stopped deserving that affection a long time ago.

The butler turned to look at Dick as he stood unsure in the doorway. He knew Alfred was well aware of what Bruce had done to him after he had dragged the boy out of the dining room, and it was humiliating, but Dick didn't have the energy anymore to let it affect him. He could stand in front of the butler without flinching, because it was no secret between them after the old man had bandaged and medicated him so many times in the beginning, before Dick had stopped fighting enough to be able to walk away from the events under his own power.

Life slowly returned to the ghost of Wayne Manor. He blinked a couple of times.

"Master Dick... You should eat something," he said as he came back to himself, hurriedly turning back to where the evening's dinner sat untouched on the island behind him. He was smoothing his hands over his clothes like someone trying to make themselves presentable. It was probably a subconscious throwback to his army days, when the uniform made the man, and neat clothes were more important than a clean soul. But try as he might to tidy his butler's uniform, he couldn't make the situation that night in the kitchen any cleaner.

Dick moved forward and began to pick at the cold food with his fingers.

"Let me get you a knife and fork, young master, and I'll heat that in the microwave for you," the old man insisted as if he was physically pained by watching the teen eat with his hands off the platter. He whisked everything away before Dick had swallowed to reply. That was Alfred; so concerned with domestic propriety and perfection, endlessly helpful when it came to silverware, but when it came to moral issues he was just as much of a demon as his master through his inaction. He made it easy to believe he liked you, until he abandoned you to the insatiable jaws of the beast.

"Thank you, Alfred," Dick said, watching Alfred bustle around the kitchen.

"And let's get some lights on, it's rather gloomy in here."

Suddenly the room was illuminated in cheery yellow light, making them both blink as it hurt their eyes. Dick had preferred the dark, it was a lot more appropriate.

The microwave dinged, and Alfred dished up a plate of the fancy dinner and handed it to Dick along with a set of heavy silver cutlery. Dick began eating where he stood.

"You should really sit down when you eat, Master Dick," Alfred complained disapprovingly.

Dick didn't take his eyes off his plate as he swallowed and answered the butler. "I'd rather not," he said darkly.

"Ah... Yes... Of course," the old man replied awkwardly.

There was a pause as the boy ate and Alfred watched him. Then Dick spoke again.

"Can you fix my hair, Alfred?"

"Fix it, Master Dick? I'm not sure..."

"Just cut it off! I don't care what you do with it! Just... just change it, I don't care," Dick cried out a little too loudly, before tapering off into a subdued and down-trodden quiet more befitting the late hour.

"Right. I shall do my best," Alfred commiserated, nodded like a soldier accepting an order. He went to a drawer and pulled out a large pair of kitchen scissors, and moved to stand behind the boy as he resumed eating. The sound of hair being sliced through by the blades whispered around the kitchen, but Dick tried to ignore it. Haircuts had unpleasant associations for him now.

"Ah, there is... a little blood here, just a moment." Alfred left him to run a cloth under the warm tap before returning and gently rinsing his hair clean. Dick winced as the cut Bruce had made when he'd thrust the teens head against the floor stung, but he didn't say anything, and then Alfred got back to work.

The butler worked well. Even when he was removing the boy's fringe, he caught every strand in his hand so that none fell into Dick's dinner. Dick cleaned his plate and waited for the old man to finish. Finally, the scissors were laid down and Alfred ruffled what was left of Dick's hair.

"If you'll permit me, I have an idea that may allow for a more... _fashionable_ look," Alfred said as he surveyed the boy's hair, before leaving the kitchen.

While Dick waited for him to come back, he took his plate to the sink. He didn't touch his hair and avoided his reflection in the dark window. He didn't want to know. It was obvious that the only way to change his hairstyle would have been to cut it all off. Dick knew what the boys at school would think of the skinhead look, but it had had to be done. And he'd just started liking the hairstyle D'Allurio had given him, too, but just like everything else Dick liked, Bruce ensured it was destroyed.

_It'll grow back_, he told himself. _The wounds heal, it'll grow back_.

Alfred returned with something in his hand, which he opened and scooped a small amount of the contents onto his finger tips before laying it down on the counter. It looked like a pot of shoe polish, but Dick could read that it was labelled _Hair Pomade_. Alfred rubbed his hands together vigorously to spread it over his palms, then began tugging it through Dick's hair, pulling it up into a more spiky look. It smelt like candle wax, and felt like it had almost set solid.

"There now, quite dashing if I do say so myself," Alfred appraised, pleased with the outcome.

Dick turned towards the window to see for himself out of curiosity, but his black hair didn't reflect very well. He thanked the butler anyway, grateful for his attempt to make the best of a bad situation, and for helping him avoid angering Bruce in the future by cutting his hair. If Alfred hadn't done it, Dick would have had to have done it himself, almost guaranteeing that his hair would look disastrous.

"You're welcome, Master Dick. Now it's off to bed with you, it's getting to be quite a ridiculous hour, we can't all be night owls like Master Bruce," the butler said with a fatherly tone, shooing him out of the kitchen.

That last comment struck Dick as strange. Was Bruce a night owl? But then he reasoned that the man had got him out of bed enough times at strange hours in the night that it was more than likely. Up all day at Wayne Industries, up all night at home, Dick thought to himself as slowly ascended the stairs back to his room, when did the man sleep? And what was he _doing_ all that time?

**Author's Note:** We got a surprising number of song suggestions in the reviews for the last chapter. Here's the playlist.

White Lies – Farewell to the Fairground  
Archive – Fuck You  
Young Heretics – I know I'm a wolf  
Perfect Circle – Pet  
Massive Attack – Paradise Circus  
Aqualung – Something to believe in  
Guano Apes – Don't you turn your back on me  
Radiohead – All I need  
Placebo – My Sweet Prince  
Seal – Crazy  
Coldplay – Viva La Vida  
Skillet – Falling in the black, Monster, Whispers in the dark, Live free or let me die, Awake and alive  
Guilty Beauty Love – Tamaki's theme  
Duran Duran – Hungry like the wolf  
Three Days Grace – I hate everything about you, Animal I have become  
Otep  
A7X  
Evanescence  
"The Wild Party" – Poor Child


	25. The GreenEyed Boy

Chapter 25

Another day, the start of another week.

Consciously aware that the only thing that awaited him was four more years of this, Dick climbed into the gleaming car, forcibly reminding himself of the trip coming up, the brief escape, and focusing on that. He said hello to the chauffeur, who didn't even look at him as he obligatorily returned his greeting. It was the same man he had had on Friday, which he found odd. Monday was mostly Ms. Dominatrix's day, so he leaned forward towards the driving seat to ask about her, trying not to appear interested. However, it occurred to him in the middle of the sentence that he didn't actually know her name.

"Usually it's... the female driver on Mondays," he said shortly. His voice was quiet but in the silence of the car, the driver seemed to hear it anyway.

"... She... was relieved of her position, Sir," the man replied after a hesitant pause that suggested he wasn't sure he was allowed to be talking to him. Dick sunk back in the seat upon hearing that information, and one of his hands raised itself up to his hair, playing with the short spikes.

Fired. Huh. He didn't really know how to feel about that. It wasn't as if he particularly _liked_ her, but... The last thing he remembered was him shouting at her to let him get out of the car... The explosion... Joker...

He wondered if _he_ was the reason that was fired. He wondered if she hated him right now and blamed the rich, spoiled Wayne kid for her misfortune. Bruce must have found out about their little argument in the car... What was Dick thinking? _Of_ _course_ he had; Bruce found about everything, with his fucking cameras and spies. He always made sure that his ward was protected from the outside world, not caring if he was trapped in the process. He probably thought the woman overstepped her boundaries, while in reality she was just doing her job, just doing exactly what Bruce had told her to when she hadn't let him out of the car.

"Thank you," he replied politely to the driver's answer and leaned back against his seat. He felt strangely disappointed. The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

Once he arrived at the Academy, he could feel a hot blush creep up his neck as he walked down the halls, catching double-takes, nudges and little whispers out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't like the first few months of his time in the school, when people didn't hesitate to shout abuse at him, or deliberately walk into him. No, _now_ he was Bruce Wayne's Chosen One, and nobody _dared_ to comment on his new too-short haircut, but it was painfully obvious everybody noticed. Why couldn't anything ever go right for him? Even a haircut, so simple for everyone else, had to turn into a painful disaster for him.

Dick tried to avoid the stares of his schoolmates as he made his way through the corridors, pretending he didn't care. He was used to the Academy boys' eyes following him wherever he went on school property, some of them content just watching, as if he was some kind of celebrity, some trying to make small talk in hopes of getting on his good side, and then there were the few jealous ones whose aggressive, bullying attitudes hadn't changed.

But it had got better since he'd started to hang out with Richard. The thought crossed his mind now that this wouldn't be happening if the older boy was there with him, standing by his side, making Dick seem normal. Since Richard had started talking to him, people were less obvious about their opinions of him, and tended to make their self-serving offers more subtle, and almost nobody looked at him when he was in the blonde's presence. He wondered if Richard had told anyone about his visit to Wayne Manor. He was sure that it would be a big hit among the boys if it ever got around.

Although this was nothing compared to the time that gossip magazine article had exposed him, Dick was still aware that people were staring, and he supposed it was because of the drastic hair change. When he had looked at his reflection that morning, it was like staring at a stranger that looked younger than the years he knew him to have. He'd never realised that his ears stuck out so much, and he felt vulnerable without his fringe to hide his eyes when he lowered his face. He desperately tried to save the situation by using some of the hair gel Alfred had put in his bathroom to create spikes, like the butler had the night before, but he didn't really know what was fashionable at the moment and was sure that it still looked disastrously lame.

He glared at the floor as he heard one of the passing boys laugh behind him, and quietly made his way through the hallway that would lead him to the parking lot and outside where he could hide until classes began. He was sick and tired of this academy and its immature students. He remembered that Bruce graduated from here too, top of his class at that - with his perfect marks and Wayne fortune, he'd probably ruled this school just like he now ruled over Gotham. Nobody would have messed with him the same way they messed with Dick. Bruce was untouchable.

"Nice," one of the older boys nodded at him with a smile, pretending to be sincere but Dick could _just_ _tell_ that this wasn't another attempt to suck up to him, this was a joke at his expense, just like before. Fucking idiots. All of them. The next person that-

"Hey, Circus Boy!"

That was IT!

Dick spun around and dropped his bag, fully prepared to take the asshole and whoever was with him on, consequences be damned. However, what greeted him instead was the cheerful sight of Richard's blue eyes laughing down at him. The blonde held up his hands defensively.

"Whoa! Easy, Tiger! I was just messing around," he said, still smiling, amused and thankfully not offended by Dick's violent behaviour.

The younger boy relaxed and awkwardly picked up his bag. His heart was overcome by relief as he blushed at embarrassing himself in front of his friend.

"H-hey," he stammered.

"So explain this to me..." The blonde quickly stepped towards him, and casually slung his arm around Dick's shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Dick flinched slightly, not expecting the contact, but Richard didn't seem to notice, or just decided not to react to it. They started walking towards the exit, the older boy gently steering the smaller along with him.

"How was it that I knew that Dick Grayson got a new haircut before I even made it to my car this morning? Is this an all-girls school or what? With the amount of gossip junkmail going on; I swear to God every one keeps checking their Facebook page every two damn seconds."

Richard didn't seem to care that he could be easily overheard in the crowded halls, and Dick found himself liking how publicly the senior was taking his side.

"What's Facebook?" Dick asked and Richard stopped walking at the words as if nobody had ever asked him that question before. He stared at Dick for a while with a blank expression on his face and then resumed walking again, one-handedly putting his sports bag over his shoulder without letting go of Dick. His grip was firm and familiar.

"In this case, I would have to say 'Ignorance is Bliss'. I don't even want to know what kind of messages you would get if you got a Facebook page. That site is evil, take it from me."

"So… how could they write about me while I'm in school? Did they use school computers?"

"iPhones, Blackberries, whatever," Richard replied, and at the return of another blank look, took an expensive looking mobile phone from his pocket and activated the screen. He didn't even need to look at the phone to do it, a clear sign that he had done it many times before.

"You can get on the internet from your phone?"

"Ok, seriously?" Richard asked with the same shock he displayed before at Dick's ignorance of Facebook and they stopped in the middle of the parking lot, on their way to… God knows where. There was a group of boys by one of the cars but they didn't seem to be paying them any attention. Dick hoped it stayed that way.

"Gimme your phone," Richard ordered with a determined look on his face, and without thinking Dick turned towards his schoolbag, blindly grabbing for the device.

Quite typically it was at the very bottom and took ages to find, so when Dick finally got hold of it, the older boy impatiently reached for it with the hand that was previously on his shoulder and immediately started to navigate from the menu, leaning very close to Dick so that the younger boy could watch what he was doing. Dick ducked his head, trying to make the strange claustrophobic position better - Richard's body pressed closely into his side made him embarrassed and defensive.

However, he knew better than to flinch away from the contact like the last time in Wayne Manor. Richard was already under the impression that there was something up with him, and he wanted to convince his friend that he was wrong so that he wouldn't get involved, or think his underclassman was a freak or a pervert. So Dick stayed still and forced himself to relax, and after a while he had to admit that the sensation wasn't that bad. It was just… really warm.

"There you go," Richard interrupted his thoughts and Dick's eyes fell on the screen of his phone that currently showed a white and blue internet site. Huh, he didn't know he could do that. He was quite behind the popular teenage technology these days, it seemed.

"'Loling at Grayson's new hair' 'Better than that high school musical wannabe shit before' 'OMG LOL have u guyz seen graysons hair?'" the blonde read out-loud and sighed at the comments, shaking his head. Dick recognized Josh McTravis' name attached to some of indecipherable posts.

Barely understanding what was being said, Dick decided not to ask anymore so that he didn't look like a complete retard and went ahead and assumed it was something negative.

"Great," he said darkly as Richard returned the phone with a wry smile.

"What can I say? This school is full of idiots, so don't worry about it. The hair's fine, short's better for sports anyhow."

When Dick gave him an eyeroll, Richard laughed.

"It is! Besides, the spikes are cool. I liiiiikeeee," he said loudly, the 'I like' butchered up by some sort of fake European accent. Realizing it was a reference to something he didn't get, Dick just shook his head. This made Richard laugh even harder.

"Ok, ok, I get it, you don't watch TV," he said. He let out a comically heavy sigh, his arm once again reaching for Dick's shoulders. "I just don't know what I'm going to do with you, Grayson."

OoO OoO OoO

Dick managed to survive the morning's classes. He guessed he must have toughened up quite a lot over the past year. Made sense, given what he'd had to go through. He was at his locker, sorting out his books, when the one next to him suddenly popped, crushed by the weight of a larger body. Dick looked up in alarm, but it wasn't someone come to cause trouble with him, it was his friend.

"Good afternoon, young Richard," Richard said with a crooked smile and an attempt at a posh English accent, which Dick could tell from his experience of Alfred was nowhere near. His blue eyes were sparkling.

"Hey... Does the team have practice?" Dick asked, closing his locker, unsure how to react to the nickname.

"No, I was just hoping we could go for lunch," the blonde replied. "Always so serious! We can hang out without it being about gymnastics, you know," Richard chastised him, widening his eyes teasingly as if his feelings were hurt.

"What about your friends?" Dick said. He'd gone to lunch with Richard before, but that had been arranged beforehand so they could talk about Dick joining the gymnastics team. Other than that, Dick assumed a popular guy like Richard had cooler friends his own age that he'd rather hang out with than the outcast freshman.

"Who do you mean?" Richard asked. Dick tried to think, but he realised he couldn't think of anyone in particular that he'd seen Richard with a lot, and couldn't name any of the seniors except the ones on the team. But before he could answer, Richard spoke again. "I don't have any plans, so if you're free..."

Dick let himself be led away with a surprised smile on his face that he immediately tried to hide. The older boy took them outside, but not in the direction of the various restaurants and cafes supplied for the boys on campus. He seemed to be heading for the main gate.

"Where are we going?" Dick asked, trying not to sound unwilling.

"I thought I'd take you to this place I know that's good to get away from these douchebags sometimes. It's nearby but noooobody goes there," he said, and wiggled his eyebrows at Dick.

"Are we allowed out?" Dick asked in surprise.

"I'll just tell them we have some official errand to run. I do it all the time, and they totally buy it 'cause I'm in loads of teams and societies anyway. Or maybe it's just my innocent face," Richard explained, finishing with a wink.

And he was right. While the guards weren't too sure about Dick, Richard gave them some story about meeting with a journalist for the school paper, and they were let out with no problem.

The place Richard was talking about turned out to be some kind of fast food restaurant with a strange layout. It must have been converted from some kind of pub or something, because there was the standard order counter with young people in stupid hats and hairnets handing out burgers and drinks below large, lit up menus hung on the wall, but the decor was all treated wood and black leather, and there were two floors, the second over-looking the first from a balcony. In the dark corners, young adults drank coffee while staring at their laptops thoughtfully, or let their muffins sit untouched, engrossed in heavy, well-thumbed books.

They were clearly the only Academy students in the whole place, as Dick couldn't see any other uniforms. He was really glad for that; the last thing he wanted was some jerk making stupid comments about Bruce or his hair or trying to suck up to him. And he was glad that Richard hadn't wanted to bring anyone with him, and had shielded him from the rest of the school. It looked like he could relax for the next hour or so.

Richard ordered what he wanted from memory, then turned to the smaller boy.

"What do you want?"

Unprepared, Dick tried to find something nice, but all he could see were adverts for special deals, no actual menus, so he just picked the simplest burger he could read the name for, and when the woman asked if he wanted the meal, he agreed for ease's sake.

He pulled out his wallet but Richard stopped him.

"I got it," he said with a smile, handing the cashier a twenty.

"Are you sure?" Dick asked worriedly, watching Richard's change be returned, fully realising it was too late to do anything about it now.

"Dick, this isn't exactly the Ritz. I think I can afford it," he replied, picking up his tray and waiting for Dick to follow him.

It was only after Richard and Dick had got their food and sat down that the boy noticed a large group of prettily-dressed girls in heels and skirts were looking their way from across the restaurant. They seemed to be talking about Richard, who had his back to them, as they kept looking back at him and nodding to each other.

Dick unwrapped his burger and began eating it slowly. He smiled to himself as he pictured Alfred's face if the butler could see him eating fast food.

His eyes shifting back to the girls, Dick thought he knew what was going on. Girls like that would be interested in a boy like Richard. He could have passed for a college student, but then again the uniform itself was a clear give-away and they had to know he was still in school. It got harder and harder to keep ignoring the staring girls, and Dick only realised too late that he hadn't heard a word Richard had said.

"Hey, are you listening to me? You keep looking at -"

Before Dick could do anything to stop him, Richard turned to see what had caught Dick's attention.

"Oh," Richard said, his face falling. He turned back to Dick. "Easily distracted, I see?" he said with a teasing tone that sounded insincere. Dick tugged at his short locks self-consciously and tried to return the smile.

"No... They're staring at you, not me," he explained with a shrug, trying to appear uninterested.

"Just ignore them." Richard seemed to think it was no big deal and really, it probably wasn't. Dick was used to people staring at him everywhere he went; first in the circus when he performed, when the local kids called him a gypsy and chased him away from them, then when he went to the Academy, looked down upon as the scholarship student and finally labelled as the Wayne boy and used for his connection to Bruce. But this was different, more _natural_. The girls weren't staring at Richard because they knew who his father was or because he had good contacts or anything as complicated as that.

They were staring because he was… good-looking.

Richard changed the subject.

"Anyway, as I was saying, normally we train twice a week, on Monday and Wednesday, but like a month before a competition we start to train every day. Since that would be coming up pretty soon..." At Dick's alarmed expression, he smiled reassuringly and moved forward in his chair. "Don't worry, we still have plenty of time. But yes, it's Wednesdays and Fridays for now. I won't be able to make it this week, though."

Dick leaned forward with a surprised face. "Really? Me neither."

Richard blinked at the words and raised a hand between them, motioning for the younger boy to stop.

"Wait… You're in 's class? Advanced English?"

At Dick's nod he shook his head in amazement. "I thought you had to be at least a junior to get into that class."

"No," Dick lied, not really knowing if that was the case or not. He only went to the classes Bruce assigned him, and in a lot of them he was surrounded by older students. He didn't want Richard to make a big deal of it, though.

"Well, hey! Then we're going on this trip together!" Richard leaned forward again with a sunny smile and before Dick could dodge or stop him, he burrowed his hand in the boy's hair and ruffled it with a laugh.

He stopped pretty quickly.

"Ew. Hair gel."

"Serves you right." Now it was Dick's turn to gloat as he leaned back trying to save what was left of his now half-ruined hairstyle. "But you're not in that class. I would have seen you."

"Yeah, I'm not. I'm just helping out with the trip. Looking after you kiddies," Richard retorted as he unsuccessfully tried to find something to wipe the gel off onto. "I help around a lot with trips, organizing stuff, sports events, that sort of thing. Looks good on the resume, you know? That's why I actually joined the Debate Club in the first place. Mr. Drew used to be the head of the Philosophy Club and they did a lot of these cool trips, and I started to help out, like, three years ago."

Dick nodded, content to keep listening to his friend as he casually peered behind him to check if they were still being observed. But what he saw made him quickly turn back to Richard with a beating heart.

Oh no.

One of the girls was coming over.

Dick automatically drew himself away, leaning away from the talking boy who hadn't realized yet that the brave girl was heading in their direction, her eyes plastered to Richard's back.

No longer listening to his friend's explanations, Dick awkwardly stood up, not really knowing what to do. There was something inside of him that hated the idea of having to be there when that girl arrived, and in his mind the scenery abruptly changed and turned into one of Bruce's private parties with models and actresses throwing themselves at the handsome billionaire. He could never stand to watch or listen to it, all those giggles, smiles and flirting always made him so feel angry and worthless.

Richard stopped in the middle of his sentence and stared up at him, confused. Dick scratched his nose, quickly thinking of what to say.

"I'm getting a milkshake, do you want anything?"

"Oh, nothing thanks." Richard replied with a smile and then changed his mind immediately. "Actually just get a big one and we can share. Whatever flavour you want." The blonde snatched up a few of Dick's left over fries and popped them in his mouth.

Dick nodded and without a second glance made his way to the front of the restaurant as fast as he could. He could hear the girl's voice behind him and sighed in relief; he almost didn't make it in time and he could not have imagined how awkward that could have been if he stayed.

He tried to think of what the girl probably thought of him, or if she noticed him at all. They probably only had eyes for Richard anyway, Dick thought bitterly. In comparison to the senior, he was a kid; a stiff-looking kid with a bad haircut and nervous eyes and almost non-existent nails that were raw and nasty from biting.

He could not understand how Bruce could find him attractive in any way and briefly wondered if he should try messing up his appearance on purpose - perhaps put a knife to his face or… or fire.

But then for the damage to really last it would have to be something brutal and permanent. After all, Wayne Tech was coming up with incredible technology these days and Bruce was rich enough to reconstruct a whole body, not only a face. It was surreal but Dick knew he would end up regretting it in the end. His situation was truly extreme if even disfigurement wouldn't save him.

But who was he to say that Bruce would be willing to do any of that? Perhaps he would let him suffer as a cripple, a freak, even more cut off from the outside world because normal people wouldn't be able to stand to look at him, and Bruce would continue doing all those terrible things to him anyway. Because it wasn't like Dick was even a real person in Bruce's eyes. Dolls don't need faces as long as you can still play with them. This couldn't be about superficial looks; the Wayne heir was constantly surrounded by the pretty faces of Gotham's elite, and he could have _anyone_ he wanted. Willingly.

And yet he wanted Dick's face, sometimes even grabbing it forcefully so that he can see the boy's expression as he hovers above him, large, seemingly larger than life, consuming him. Dick always used to close his eyes during those times at first, shutting them tight and pretending it was the pain but really just feeling humiliated, blocking the sights of the monster like a scared child pretending that seeing and being seen was the same.

But these last four months, it was different. A person can be humiliated only so many times until their ego wears away and they stop caring. His fear of Bruce still kept his eyes shut with fear, but it was usually a practiced gesture and he tried to keep his face hidden as often as he could, preferring to be taken on the desk where he could hide his wretched self in the dusty wood and old papers... Trying to pretend he was only one of the objects in the forbidden room to be used by its eager master, unable to feel anything, neither the physical pain nor the nauseating disgrace.

He slowly learned to stop struggling and most of his attempts were only half-hearted and really just served to get Bruce off quicker so that the whole experience would be done with that much faster. The Wayne heir had probably sensed that too, because as the days went by, he was becoming tougher, and crueller, but something that would have made the boy scream out in agony in the beginning only made him let out a soft groan or wince at this point.

If this is what a single year had done to him, Dick had trouble imagining himself at the age of eighteen. That fact itself sent violent shivers down his spine. Unable to imagine his future - even in the vaguest terms - it was like it wasn't there, like he didn't have one.

"Is that everything?"

The boy blinked as he was interrupted from his brooding and faced the bored looking woman behind the counter. Her face was telling him he must have been lost in his thoughts for quite some time. He checked his table; the girl was now sitting at his seat but slowly getting up. Richard caught his eyes and Dick quickly looked away, not really knowing why. All those thoughts of Bruce made him nervous.

"Yes, thank you," he replied politely and reached into his pocket for a thin wallet, pulling out the only card inside. He could see the woman's eyes widen in disbelief at the sight of it and assumed it had a value he wasn't aware of. He didn't know much about credit cards but the one Bruce had handed him when he'd started school wasn't made out of plastic, but something smoother, hinting at exclusivity, and it was black with an elegant blue design around its edges. He cursed Bruce again. It was typical that he hadn't given his ward a _normal_ credit card that he could just use like anyone else, this was clearly some _special_ card for men like him, the elite. Bruce had given him yet another way to let everyone know just who he belonged to. Fuck, nothing could ever be easy, could it? Nothing could ever go right. And he didn't have any cash on him, this card had always been enough. He didn't even know _how_ to make withdrawals from an ATM.

The woman gave a nervous little laugh, and looked over her shoulder as if hoping for some help. "I'm sorry, Sir," Dick didn't miss how she slipped the 'sir' in there after seeing the card. "But the price needs to be at least five dollars to be paid for by card."

"Oh," Dick answered distractedly, looking back at the table and disappointed to see the girl still hanging around. She had already stood up but was now standing over Richard with one of her hands on the table next to him. Dick wished she would just leave. When he caught his own reflection on one of the glass walls as he was turning around, he was greeted by a face with an intensely ugly expression and he immediately went blank, not realizing that he was quite that angry about the girl. It was strange.

"Then I guess..." He sighed and gave up. "What costs five dollars?" he asked prepared to let the cashier decide for him since he didn't really want anything anyway.

She looked taken back, clearly not used to being asked to make decisions or give advice. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed to... to-"

"Look, I don't care, just give me something."

"The muffin is a dollar forty-nine, and this fruit bag with the milkshake makes a little over five dollars..." the woman suggested, anxiously pulling the items from under a glass display case beside her.

"Fine," Dick replied, angrily putting his card in the little machine on the counter and punching in his code. He grabbed everything off the desk and turned around before the woman could give him his receipt. He wondered if Bruce would find it suspicious when he saw a different restaurant on the bank statement, and not his usual café on campus. He was even off school grounds, which was _not_ allowed. If Bruce found out, he would be in big trouble...

Well, it was too late to do anything about it now.

He looked back at the table, craning his neck to see over the heads of the impatient queue that had formed. The girl had just left. He let out a sigh of relief. He was able to walk back to the table calmly now that Richard was alone, his arms full of stuff he didn't really want. He could still feel the woman's eyes on his back and swore to himself to never use that card in front of any of his classmates.

"You do realize we only have like ten minutes left, right?" Richard greeted him with raised eyebrows as Dick sat down opposite him, uncomfortably aware that the girl had occupied it just a mere minute ago.

"I can always take it with me." Dick replied while looking down at the sweets in his hands, the muffin about to fall apart at the top. None of it really went with anything else, it was an odd, mismatched selection, and there was a brief pause as it seemed to occur to both boys at the same time. Without a word, Richard snatched the muffin from him, leaving Dick with the gross bag of processed fruit, and took a big bite as if it was the most natural thing in the world. At Dick's annoyed expression, he explained with a full mouth and a cheeky grin, "I thought I might help you get rid of it."

Dick faked a smile and wondered why he couldn't stop thinking about the girl. He had a burning curiosity to know what she had said, and surely it was only natural and polite to include Dick since they'd been interrupted by her. It wasn't like it would be a secret or something, right? He wanted to ask Richard about it but didn't really know how to start. He settled for a mumbled "So what was that about?", hiding his embarrassment behind the milkshake.

"Oh, her?"

Dick nodded nonchalantly. Richard acted as if this kind of thing happened every day and who knew, maybe it did. With the boy's face, height and body he could have passed for a model, and Dick didn't really know how the opposite gender acted around his friend since they went to an all-boys school.

"She's friends with my ex." Richard swallowed and kept his eyes on the dry muffin, picking pieces off with his fingers. "Apparently, Alicia's not over it yet, and that girl was just chewing me out for breaking her heart, but whatever, right? It's not my fault if it wasn't working out. It's not like I should have stayed with her just to make her happy while I suffered." The words themselves sounded harsh, but something about the careless, removed way Richard said them while keeping his eyes averted made Dick think that Richard _did_ feel bad about it, and secretly wanted Dick to reassure him.

"Yeah, it's not your fault. She'll get over it eventually," he replied, saying what he thought Richard probably wanted to hear, but not really knowing what to think. He had no experience of girlfriends himself... _Would_ she get over it? Would _he_ get over it if Richard didn't want to spend time with _him_ anymore? That was an unpleasant thought, so he pushed it away.

Something was still bothering him though; maybe the familiar way Richard had spoken about his ex-girlfriend. But what was he thinking? Richard was a good-looking, popular, social senior in a school for Gotham's next ruling generation, with an actual _life_ outside the school, _of course_ he'd had girlfriends. He was probably beating them off with a stick. It probably wouldn't be long before he got another one.

Dick leaned back uncertainly, wanting to ask about Richard's mystery girlfriend but knowing it wasn't any of his business. It made Dick think about his own prospects, and he had to hold back a derisive snort. A nice girlfriend was a faraway dream for people like him; he wasn't worthy of it because he had been ruined for the rest of his life, and nobody wants (_disgustingfilthydamaged!_) second-hand goods.

"Dick, you're bleeding."

"What?" he blinked up at Richard who was staring at him with that secretive concerned look he began to associate with trouble. His blue eyes were dark and very different from his usual sunny personality.

Ah, he was biting his nails again.

"Do you do that a lot?" Richard's expression hadn't changed.

"No. Not really. Just when I'm bored, you know. Old habits, I guess." Dick tried to laugh it off, but he guessed it must not have been very convincing, because Richard's face hadn't relaxed.

"Sure looks like you do. Let's see." He held his hand out across the table, and Dick's skin tingled as he forced himself not to flinch away to a safe distance.

"What?"

"Your hand. Give it here," Richard insisted, forcing Dick to obey and hesitantly stretch his stinging hand between them and let Richard wrap the thumb in one of the thin, scratchy restaurant napkins. Watching the blood spread, Dick was reminded of the day before and of Bruce's dark voice as he told him to stop the biting, painfully holding his hand in a way very unlike Richard's gentle grip. He watched his friend's face as he took care of his hand, his expression serious and hard.

"Thanks. I really have to stop doing that," Dick replied with a friendly tone and tugged at Richard's grip until his hand was released and he could bring it back to his lap. Opposite him, Richard took a long deep breath and returned the friendly smile. It was almost disturbing how easily he could smile when his face had looked so dark just a second ago.

"Let's go, we're gonna be late. What's your next lesson?"

0o0

0o0

0o0

**AmberSpirit: RICHARD! MARRY ME!**

**Ok, so originally this was my chapter but apparently when I sent it I was probably half-asleep or something because when I got the feedback it turned out the whole thing needed to be edited BIG TIME.**

**So I would say half of this chapter is actually Alchemist's Daughter's especially the ending part. Some great stuff, right? You guys ready for the trip?**

**I think we just made it halfway into the story! Man, soon this fic will turn into one of those where you have to scroll down to get to the latest chapter. Uh, that's LONG.**

**I also made some fanart for this story so go ahead and check it out on devianart. Just type in 'Boy in the manor dick' into the search bar and the 'Precious' 'Sunny smile' 'Love me do' 'Magical boy' and the 'Boy in the manor' are all done by me.**

**Oh, yes and also here are some of the new songs that were suggested for this story:**

**Into the Ocean- Blue October (Dick)**

**Made of Glass- Trapt (Dick)**

**Bruises and Bitemarks- Good with Grenades (Bruce)**

**Secret- The Pierces (Alfred)**

**Muse- Showbiz, Citizen erased**

**Smashed into Pieces- Silverstein**

**Drag you down- Finger Eleven (Dick)**

**Darker side of me- Veer union (Bruce)**

**From first to last – And we all have hell (Bruce)**

**Castle Walls –T.I. (Dick)**

**White lies-EST (Dick)**

**Precious- Depeche mode**

**Keep them coming!**


	26. The Boy, Kissed

**Chapter 26: The Boy, Kissed**

"Damn it." Dick rolled away from the mattress that still had that rubbery _new_ smell, and stood up with a frustrated look on his face. He was used to understanding and mastering the basics of a trick in just a few tries, and yet here he was having problems with something as simple as a single front flip. It was like his old circus training was blocking him from learning new things, which was ironic considering the fact that the current Dick had almost nothing in common with the Flying Graysons' laughing, cheeky little boy.

He was currently in the new gym, surrounded by all the expensive equipment manifested from Bruce's strange need to shower him with gifts and clothes and electronics he didn't really want. The gym was the most expensive purchase, and Dick's favourite - he didn't really want to admit it to himself, but he was glad that Bruce had spent the money to build him a training room, when before all he had had were rough trees and wet grass on the ground. He never wanted to forget his skills from the circus and performing tricks and dangerous stunts made him feel like the world disappeared, when his sharp mind and beating heart were the only things he truly needed.

He wanted to get better, and that's what made him come to the renovated cinema every day after school; stretching, lifting himself up on the rings and going through the moves that Richard had taught him during his visit. It came easier to him without the threat of his friend touching his body to help him if he showed even the smallest sign of uncertainty, and as with everything in his circus life, the moves came to him naturally, with an ease only somebody with his upbringing could have.

Yet without the thrill of performing, and the risk of breaking his neck if he fell, the movements were mechanical, and all he could do was perfect the tricks over and over again, like a broken record skipping. There was no challenge, no satisfaction. Without Richard's eyes on him, the taught moves just weren't enough.

And that was when his eyes fell on the mats in the corner.

_"Okay, so I think it's safe to say we've found your weak point. Your floor skills suck," _he remembered Richard saying. The words opened something inside of him.

He dropped down quietly and made his way towards them He didn't waste any time dragging the red mats into the floor section of the gym. It was harder by himself, but the boy was determined. He began going through the things he already knew and Richard had told him was part of the team's repertoire; back flips, tumbles, cartwheels and all the variations of it. Yet when he attempted a front flip, trying to fit in Richard's corkscrew-whatever, he realized that the trick itself wasn't the problem, it was the front flip. He couldn't do it.

Whenever he attempted it, his body automatically prepared itself for a _double_ front flip, and he ended up falling on his face or his back. It was maddening, and Dick cursed his trained body. He knew all too well that the reason for this was one of the regular routines he did for his solo act in the circus; repeated front flips in the air until he straightened to grasp hold of the trapeze swinging towards him to the relieved and impressed cheers of the crowd. His quadruple flip, unique in the country in someone at his age, had been drilled into him for hours every day for months, until there was no way he could make a mistake and hurt himself. It was difficult to unlearn that kind of training.

But now he wasn't on the trapeze, he wasn't flying through empty air. The ground was very nearby and he just _kept_ crashing into it. Floor gymnastics were harder than he gave them credit for. And he was not supposed to reach for anything now, not that his body would listen to him. Each time he passed the first flip his body positioned itself to keep going, and hit the mat after the incomplete second flip, aching and annoyed. His motivation was lost, and he lay motionless on the mat for several minutes, his chest heaving and sweat condensing beneath him as he got his breath back.

When he pulled himself up, he was faced with his reflection in the mirror that covered one of the walls, clean and gleaming perfectly. Looking up he saw two cameras on the ceiling. Really. Bruce wasn't even trying to hide himself anymore. He might as well have been in the room with him. Dick looked back towards the mirror wall with disgust. Was there anything hiding behind the glass? A secret room, more cameras? His reflection grimaced back at him.

Tomorrow he would be away from this place and travelling to New Carthage on the bus rented for the trip, miles away from Bruce or the cold darkness of Wayne Manor. He got a strange feeling that he couldn't place whenever he thought about it - sleeping somewhere else with a lock on the door and a certainty that he's protected and completely alone, without mechanical eyes watching his every move and audio bugs recording every sound…

Dick lay down on the mat again and spread his hands out, closing his eyes. He imagined his escape like a dream, being driven steadily away from Wayne Manor and everything that lived there, all the troubles and pain, all the ghosts and ancient history, secrets on top of secrets on top of secrets.

He could hardly believe he hadn't even been at the house for two years - it felt like he had lived there his whole life, that Alfred had always cleaned everything and cooked meals for him, since he was a baby even. And Bruce... the distant father figure who had turned out to be his very own personal nightmare. Dick wondered what it would be like if he truly was Bruce's son, and grew up in the manor from the very beginning. Would their relationship still be the same? Was Bruce fucked up enough to do this to his own flesh and blood?

The reflection in the mirror was certainly similar enough to the photo of the young billionaire that Alfred had shown him all that time ago. He could pass for Bruce's son, especially if you saw them standing next each other, Dick wearing one of the expensive suits picked out for him.

But it was painfully obvious that Bruce had never really seen him as a son, Dick thought bitterly as he rolled over on the mat, burying his face in its slick coolness, the plastic and sawdust smell almost overpowering him. Deep inside the boy, there was still this ache, this fucking _need_ to be accepted by his guardian, by _anybody_ now that his parents were gone. He had brought it to the Manor with him from the Children's Home, and it had never truly left, and he hated himself for it. He was supposed to despise the man, want him _dead_, tortured, suffering, skinned alive - and really, he did want all of that, and more. But there was a part of him that felt good when Bruce complimented him, a part that wanted Bruce to show him his true self and accept him as his son and not just some brainless pet he owned. He wondered if this need would ever go away, if Bruce would do something so terrible, so painful and so unthinkable that Dick would lose all of this ridiculous hope and learn to stop expecting anything, ever again. A chill went over Dick as he thought that it seemed almost inevitable at this point, and he didn't know what would happen to him – to his soul, his mind, or whatever it was inside him that made him Dick Grayson – when it did.

The boy grew cold as he lay still and let out a long sigh. He stood up, frowning at the now-dried sweat sticking his t-shirt to his skin. He decided to leave the front flip alone for now and try out one of the other moves Richard had showed off; he remembered one that had caught his eye when his friend introduced it, calling it a Butterfly flip or twist or something like that.

"_That's not the official name,"_ the blonde explained with a voice of a person that was passionate about the subject they were talking about _"But then again you wouldn't find this move in any of the official routines anyway. It's most popular in Free Running groups though, and really neat. Watch."  
_

He could recall Richard's smiling face and the careful way he moved, slowing the process down to show Dick exactly how to position his body.

Imagining the whole process in his head, Dick started to move. The mirror opposite him showed his clumsy take-off that looked nothing like what his friend had performed, and after landing awkwardly on his ass, Dick realized that it was because he was not bent over enough and his arms were supposed to stretch out as he flipped over.

He returned to his previous position and tried again. And again. And again. After five more tries he landed properly on his feet; after six he was able to keep his legs stretched out as he moved them through the air, and after ten more he was confident enough to do two flips in a row. Ending it with a series of somersaults, Dick only stopped when he had no more space in front of him, and then started a series of backwards ones. By the time he made it to his original place he was flushed and properly out of breath, listening to his heart beating madly in his chest.

That was enough for today. Time to pack, he thought eagerly.

Dick was used to travelling. The circus rarely stayed in one place for a long period of time and almost never went to one city twice. It had been his first time in Gotham when his parents were murdered and he stopped being part of the performers' group. He was used to seeing new towns every month, new faces, new places, but there were always things that stayed the same; things like supermarkets, the streets with the same 'big city' feel, the same poor parts of town that were identical in their poverty. He was used to packing not only for himself but for the whole family, and that was why it was strange how nervous he felt now, as he walked up the stairs of Wayne Manor, thinking about tomorrow's trip. Nervous, excited… There was really nothing that could go wrong, and he had teachers and Richard to protect him if anything happened, but he still felt anxious…

Mindful of the portrait hung on the wall, Dick avoided looking in its direction as he tiredly made his way to his bathroom, sweaty, his short hair sticking out in every direction. His body ached from the exercise and it made him feel good; a sure sign that he was slowly returning back to the excellent shape he was in back at the circus. He couldn't wait for another training session with the team where he could show off his skills again and have fun with people he actually had something in common with. It was too bad that he would miss the week's training but he had another four years of the gymnastics team ahead of him so…

'_Four years, huh?_' Dick thought to himself as he took off his sweaty clothes, carelessly throwing them near the sink. He was aware that the cameras would record everything, but it seemed to matter less and less as the days went by, and Dick realized that it was his survival instinct kicking in again and forcing him to adapt. He didn't try to pretend they weren't there or hide himself from their view anymore, merely accepting the brutal fact and living with it. It just wasn't possible to fight them and the man behind it all, he needed to be able to forget about them to live in any real way. He'd lost so much of who he'd been before his parents' death, he didn't have the energy left to try to hold on to what was being continuously eroded from him.

He wondered how many of the morals and values of his childhood could be driven out of him until he wouldn't be able to function anymore. Was he tolerating this because of his own strong urge to survive, or had Bruce orchestrated the whole thing? Hurting him and then giving him time to recover, to get used to the situation, only to force his head under the surface again once Dick had got his breath back. If all of this had happened on his first night in Wayne Manor, Dick probably wouldn't have been able to cope with it; the rape, the cameras, the absolute control and isolation from the rest of the world…

But Bruce was smart, Dick realized. All of this was gradual, slowly spreading itself over a whole year and he was dealing with it, fucking used to it even. Unbelievable. He couldn't believe that he was getting used to _undressing and taking a shower in front of cameras._ Of course, this begged the question, just why did Bruce adopt him in the first place? Had he been shopping for a fucktoy and Dick had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, his parents conveniently dead and him in need of a new home? Somehow he couldn't believe it, he preferred to think that he was just a victim of chance, than to admit that even Bruce was capable of that level of planning, deceit and corruption.

'_Huh, Alfred must have been shopping,_' Dick thought as he noticed the large amount of different brands of hair gels and products. Must have figured out that Dick wanted to keep the spiky look. The butler was observant that way.

He went quickly through the process of cleaning his body, making sure that his hands didn't linger on any one place for too long, forcing himself to think of his body as a mere object he was washing, not belonging or related to him in any way.

It was something he often unconsciously reverted to when he was in the forbidden room, feeling large hands on his skin and telling himself he was just an object that can be easily repaired if hit or squeezed too hard, that Bruce was touching _something_, but not _him_. He understood very well that it wasn't healthy, mentally, to see himself that way, but Dick could not be more grateful to be blessed with this strange phenomenon; it made his life easier on so many levels.

He was sure it was alright if you could control it, which he mostly did. He couldn't imagine reverting back to the earlier days when everything was so, too real, when he could hear every heaving breath, feel what his heart now easily shut off and experience what his senses now simply rejected.

He had learned his lesson. He was too arrogant in his previous assumptions about how Bruce could not make his existence that much more painful. It can always be worse, his trembling inner voice reminded him.

It can _always_ be worse.

**0o0**

**0**

**0o0**

He was in the middle of packing when he heard the knock on the door.

"Come in."

There was the sound of the door opening and three quiet steps as someone entered the room. Dick didn't even have to look up to recognize the person as Alfred, with his silent, dignified presence as he waited to be addressed. And who else was it going to be? Bruce? Bruce didn't come himself, he sent Alfred - that was the way it worked.

Feeling mischievous, his mood lightened by his exercise and the promise of an escape from his prison, the boy looked up at the butler from the ground, his hands gently resting on the expensive suitcase by his feet.

"Do you need help with packing, Master Dick?"

"You're asking _me_?" Dick asked with a smile and turned back towards the neat pile of clothes in front of him. "You know I can do things on my own. I'm great at packing," he replied after a while as he carefully positioned the t-shirt to fit perfectly between the two small piles of clothes. He didn't really want Alfred to leave; just simply having a human presence in the room made his heart lighter and he missed talking to people, their friendly replies and small talk that didn't really mean anything. It was as if his friendship with Richard had opened something inside him that craved human interaction again.

"So I see, sir. One of the skills acquired during your days spent travelling with the circus, no doubt," the man replied with a light conversational tone, and Dick could feel some sort of weight fall from his shoulders; a fear that Alfred would not reply to his banter and instead return to his cold, professional voice.

"That's right," he smiled good-naturedly and reached over for one of the smaller bags on the nearby bed. The box inside him that held his parents' corpses was shut tightly and he didn't feel sad mentioning his happy days at the circus; that wasn't him.

He wanted to continue with the light teasing, ask something like 'Are you going to miss me?' but realized he didn't want to hear the answer and that Alfred would never reply the way he wanted him to. The thought made him hunch over his suitcase, his back to the man.

As if sensing it, the butler's next words were professional and cold and sent a chill down his spine.

"Master Bruce has business tomorrow morning, and is therefore requesting your presence tonight befor-"

"_I get it_, Alfred," Dick cut in harshly, having known this was coming for some time, and he turned to glare at the old man standing by the door, angry that his little pretend average conversation was ruined so quickly.

Alfred didn't reply and simply bowed, disappearing into the hall like a shadow. Of course he wasn't here just to chat with him, it was always _The Master_ pulling the strings.

Dick _hated_ it.

Alfred probably wouldn't even look at him if it up was up to him. Dick understood, though. Alfred had raised Bruce from a child, and Dick was just the newbie who had corrupted him, the seed of his master's evil. Dick wouldn't be surprised at all if Alfred hated him. But it wasn't fair.

He left the suitcase on the floor, confident that he had packed everything he needed; the only things missing was a toothbrush and some other stuff from the bathroom that he planned to use in the morning. He would just wake up earlier and pack it before breakfast. That was a good plan.

All he had to do now was 'say goodbye' to his guardian. He grimaced at the thought.

His feet knew the way without him having to think about it, he had walked this path so many times before. One foot after the other, and then he realized he had forgotten his shoes, and he hadn't put any new socks on after his shower. _That wasn't good_, the practical side of him coldly commented, _there are shards of glass on the floor when you get there, you'll have to be careful not to step on the shattered lamp pieces_…

As if any of that really mattered, but he pondered this dilemma anyway just to have something to think about. It was always easier to turn his head away from the situation at hand and look at the other side, the side that didn't have a frightened boy walking these steps towards the room of pain.

Past the staircase, the portrait on the wall, happy couple smiling down at him. One more turn and he was walking through the familiar hallway with his head bent down like a prisoner nearing his execution. _This is the last night, this is the last night_, he told himself.

_Knock Knock_

"Come in."

He opened the door.

The room was dark as always and the black silhouette standing by the window didn't move or give any indication that he noticed the barefoot boy by the door. Dick's eyes gazed at all the familiar objects surrounding him, large desk, broken lamps, dust particles dancing in the air and bookshelves after bookshelves after bookshelves. He looked down at his feet and only now realized his idiocy; of course it mattered if his feet got cut up with the glass, he couldn't go on the trip if he injured himself, couldn't do gymnastics, couldn't even go to school if he couldn't _walk_. He would be stuck in the Manor until he healed, which could take days...

But it would make Bruce angry if he had to go back to his room to get something he should have thought to bring with him. Bruce didn't find that kind of mistake - being unprepared for the situation - amusing.

"What are you waiting for? Come here," the dark voice ordered, and Dick squinted at the dusty carpet in the dark, trying to see where it was safe to put his naked feet down, not _there_ and certainly not _there_...

"What's the problem?" Bruce demanded with a low, impatient voice, and turned away from the window to face him. Dick didn't know how to explain his situation; it was so ridiculous now that he thought about it, but he assumed that the best thing to do now was to tell the truth. That was mostly the best approach with Bruce. Short and honest.

"…I forgot my shoes and there is glass on, on the floor," Dick explained quietly, having absolutely no idea how his guardian would react. Bruce looked at him for a second and his face was surprised - Your _shoes_? - but then he sighed, as if Dick was an ignorant child that could not do anything on his own, and started to move.

The man's movements were quick and efficient, and it took his long legs only a few steps before he was standing in front of the boy, intimidating in his largeness. Bruce put both hands under his ward's armpits, strong hands gripping flesh, and the boy was lifted into the air as effortlessly as if he was just an infant.

Dick gasped at the action but Bruce paid him no attention and carefully turned around, walking back towards his original place by the desk, next to the window, the glass shards cracking as he stepped on them with heavy feet. The man didn't hold him close to his body, keeping him instead at arm's length, barely even looking at his ward as he made his way across the room.

Dick couldn't remember the last time he was held like this, perhaps when he was five and his father helped him onto one of the horses in the circus, safe and supportive. Bruce made it look like he didn't weigh anything at all, in fact he didn't make the slightest noise as he carried him to the desk, and in the moonlight coming from the window, his guardian's face was serious and concentrated on his task, giving Dick the impression that he was the ferryman, emotionlessly carrying him from one side of the river to the other, from the land of the living to the cold, dark, terrifying land of the dead. The desk was an island in the abyss of the forbidden room, a safe haven he couldn't escape because of the glass that twinkled menacingly in the moonlight from the carpet.

"Ah." He was put on the edge of the desk, his bare feet dangling in the air. Bruce let go of him and moved his arms to either side of the desk, trapping him with his body. Dick leaned as far away as his balance allowed him, and kept his eyes at the man's chest, instead of his face. Now that Bruce was facing the windows, he was able to see every detail, every look in his eyes illuminated by the strong moonlight streaming in from behind the clouds. The man's blue eyes were bleached of their colour and looked glassy and dead. Dick didn't want to look. It was scary.

He wished the moon would go away, hide its light just for now so Dick didn't have to watch what was about to happen.

"Are you nervous about the trip?" Bruce murmured in a low tone, gently running his hand along the side of his ward's head before firmly taking hold of it, his hand large and warm and intimidating. His masculine adult voice only increased the boy's fear. With their faces so close, Dick wasn't sure he was even able to make any noise, and so he nodded, dumb and submissive - _Whatever you say._

Bruce paused for a while as if thinking about his next words.

"If you feel uncomfortable about going, I can arrange to-"

"NO!" Dick cried out, jerking upright in a spasm of panic, accidentally bringing himself towards the man in the hope of making him understand. He couldn't call the trip off now. _He just couldn't._

"I want to go, I… It's fun and the whole class is going and we've been doing the plays in school and seeing them played out is…" he immediately realized that this was the wrong approach; if it was about the plays, Bruce was able to fucking _buy_ the theatre group and make them perform right here in Wayne Manor. The plays themselves weren't the answer.

But what should he say? Bruce probably didn't want him to associate with his classmates and God forbid if he knew that Richard was going on the trip as well; he was sure that if the man knew that, he would cancel everything in an instant and they wouldn't even be having this conversation. The fact that it was a _class_ trip protected him.

"I… want to go," he repeated again, deciding that his original approach of short and honest was the only one at the moment.

Bruce was quiet for a moment and it was only then that Dick realized how close face to face they were, with him sitting on the desk and Bruce hunched over it. He immediately leaned away, never liking to be close to the man's face. There was usually quite a distance between their faces whenever they were in this room, with Dick on his knees or bent over or on the dusty floor with Bruce hovering over him like some kind of a wild creature from his nightmares.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what Bruce thought about this whole trip thing. He would be away from the Manor, from his control, for the first time since he arrived. Three nights without the young boy in the house… Would Bruce care? Would he even _notice_?

He didn't like the needy tone his thoughts had taken on, and brought himself forcibly back to the present. Bruce's arms lightly brushed against his shoulders as he was trapped in the human cage. He still couldn't find the courage to look at Bruce's face and so he waited for the man's move as he stared helplessly at his chest, willing himself to stay still.

Bruce adjusted his grip on the desk and leaned away slightly, as if thinking about something, indecisive, and Dick would give anything to hear his thoughts, to feel what he felt and understand the terrifying man. But then the brief moment of hesitation was gone. Bruce was back in control again and his hands moved towards the boy's body, his hands tugging the t-shirt up impatiently.

"Lift your arms," he growled, obviously displeased, and Dick obeyed with an alarmed expression on his face, immediately lifting them up high in the air, doing what he was told.

The man took off his shirt, undressing him like a child being undressed by their parent, and after it was thrown to the floor out of Dick's reach, Bruce stepped back, obviously intending to take off the rest.

Uncomfortable, Dick allowed him to, not expecting this complete exposure but somehow used to it. There were times when he was forced to undress in front of his guardian down to his very shoes and he hadn't forgotten how Bruce had demanded he change in front of him at Goldworth's. However, he was rarely undressed by the older man himself. He tried not to think about it too much.

After he was completely naked, he was put in the same position as before, sitting on the edge of the desk with Bruce's hands on either side of him, and he shivered slightly at the cold air on his skin. Dick had never found another room in the Manor as cold as this one, and he wondered why for a moment. Bruce was staring openly at his exposed body, _he could fucking tell_, and he tried to make himself as small as he possibly could, vulnerable in his nakedness. _It's not me, it's not me, it's not me._

Then Bruce leaned away again, still staring at him as he reached for his own shirt and started unbuttoning it impatiently, never once taking his eyes from the sight before him, sitting on the desk. Dick could feel his heart beating like crazy, the adrenalin that he was not allowed to use for Fight or Flight pumping uselessly in his veins. This was not normal, Bruce never took off his own clothes, the only time Dick had ever seen him without a shirt was in his bedroom with bandages covering the firm muscles.

Because the opportunity was so rare, Dick couldn't stop himself from looking curiously at his guardian's chest. It seemed so large, his shoulders so broad, his arms so thick, that incredibly, Dick felt belittled by comparison. As if masculinity mattered now, as if Bruce hadn't already torn the boy's to shreds a long time ago. But where did all those muscles _come_ from? He could have believed that Bruce worked out, that his playboy persona necessitated an attractive physique, and it probably would have raised _more_ questions if Bruce _didn't_ have a personal trainer or something, but what Dick could see now, clearly illuminated in the silver light from the window, went beyond appearances. Bruce was muscled like a man who needed it, not an ounce of fat or blurred outline anywhere on his torso. This was a man who wouldn't have looked out of place on the cover of a work-out magazine, if it wasn't for the scars. Too many to count, they were scattered all over Bruce's skin, in all shapes and sizes. Where had they come from? How did he get them? It was all so strange, and once again, Dick got the feeling that there was more to the Wayne heir than even he knew.

Bruce seemed to decide that he'd waited long enough. In one movement, he swooped down on the boy, his hands gripping Dick's hips and pulling them towards him, roughly spilling him onto his back on the desktop. Dick threw out his arms to catch himself, and ground his elbows painfully onto the pencils and book corners that had survived their previous episodes on the desk. He winced, but managed not to make any noise.

At the same time, Bruce burrowed his face in Dick's neck and there was a warm breath on his skin and some sort of tugging and the sound of zipper and he knew it was coming and he shut his eyes in preparation for-

"Urgh…!" he groaned uncomfortably, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth in pain. Shit, it hurt. It would have been more bearable if Bruce stopped to give him time to adjust, but the man didn't wait to start to thrust impatiently and again and again and the pace picked up and all he could do was take deep breaths to not cry out in pain. Bruce was everywhere, covering him, engulfing him, his face pressed into Dick's hot temple and he could feel his lips moving as if he was saying something into his skin but no sound came out, only the noises of flesh meeting flesh.

"Nnn…nnhhh…." Dick clenched his jaw and moved his head away from the hot breath but this only caused Bruce to grip him harder, drive into him harder, and after a particularly painful thrust Dick gasped out in agony and one of his legs stretched itself out, trembling in the air, trying anything to alleviate the pain. Another thrust and he hooked it around Bruce's waist unconsciously, seeking support and then realizing what he had done he immediately let go, terrified. But before he could lower it or move it away one of the man's hands grabbed his calf and kept it there as he continued to ruthlessly fuck him with a groan that clearly indicated he wanted Dick to keep it hooked around him.

God it was painful. The violation hurt, but what got Dick the most was the pretence, the _shut-up-and-take-it_, the leg around Bruce's waist as if he wanted what was happening. The boy wasn't allowed to have his own opinions, his own feelings, he was there to be only what Bruce wanted. Piece by piece, he was losing himself to the lies and masks. If they were all anybody ever saw, didn't they become what was real?

The pain was steadily becoming more bearable, or more like his brain was becoming able to shut it out and focus on other things, and with deep breaths Dick was able to start thinking clearly once again. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see his guardian's face especially now that it was so frighteningly clear with the moonlight shinning from the window, bright and blue-tinted from the curtains.

He concentrated on the feel of the dusty wood on his back, the way his skin chafed as he remained unmoving while Bruce thrust inside him as if he was some sort of a life-sized statue built atop the wooden desk, an object that could feel no pain or see any scary sights. None of this was real. He wasn't real.

But for some reason it was impossible for him to escape tonight. Bruce's face was pressed against his temple, neck, ear and this unusual amount of contact made Dick anxious and fearful, and he continued leaning away as far as his body allowed him to. The predator was too near and his instincts cried at him to get away, but of course he couldn't do anything of the sort even if he actually tried. Time and time again he learned that you can't say no to Bruce Wayne and he was weak and pathetic and-

"Hnnn!" Dick whimpered at the unfamiliar intense pain coming from his shoulder and it took him some time to realize that Bruce had bit him, _he fucking bit him_ and was sucking on his neck like an animal. The boy thrashed under the heavy body, his nail-bitten hands grasping at the large shoulders trapping him against the desk but it was a battle lost from the very beginning.

"Aaarg… don't… don't!" he pleaded like the pathetic creature that he was. "It hurts!" he cried, as if all of the things he'd experienced so far weren't more painful and agonizing. Yet, surprisingly, Bruce did stop, and kissed the wound, light feathery touches here and there, the wet warmth of a tongue on stinging skin, and Dick breathed heavily, grateful when the terrible sensation stopped. Inhaling and exhaling to calm his frightened heart, Dick didn't even notice Bruce lean away from the crook of his neck and so was completely unprepared when Bruce's face appeared right above him, intense and frightful. It was too late to close his eyes, he was already caught in that domineering gaze and he stared at his guardian with a horror of a child trapped in a dark basement, scared and utterly alone.

'_I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here...'_

Dick didn't even realize that the thrusts had stopped, without any indication that the abuse was over. No, he was simply observed, and Dick felt as if the whole mansion held its breath when Bruce leaned down, with an uncharacteristically slow movement, and he shut his eyes, expecting pain (_his face bitten off),_ but what came instead was a firm pressure on his lips. He froze.

The pressure didn't increase, instead it started to move, slowly, and Dick realized that the unfamiliar sensation was kissing. He was being kissed. By Bruce.

"Mhh…!"

Dick immediately began to thrash defensively, twisted his face from side to side to try to escape but he couldn't. It was wrong, it felt very wrong and he could feel shivers of repulsion go up and down his spine disgustedly, his chest aching with a terribly tight emotion that he had experienced many times before but never so intensely. On top of everything else, the rape, the injuries, the cameras, the neglect – On top of physical abuse and psychological warfare, Bruce felt the need to do _this_ to him. Was he deranged? Was his guardian actually insane? Why kiss him? Why? Why be gentle? Not for the first time, Dick was struck with the impression that the man was clinically deluded, that in some subtle way, Bruce had lost touch with reality. Who was the kiss for, him or Bruce? Was Bruce just fucking with him, trying out one of the few things he hadn't inflicted on the boy yet, or did he think that he and Dick were somehow sharing something romantic or passionate?

He finally broke away with a glare, just barely restraining himself from spitting to get rid of the horrible sensation. Bruce's face above him darkened and whatever made him hesitate before completely disappeared with the boy's obvious rejection, and with one hard thrust that made Dick wince in pain, the man's face was on his again and he was sucking and biting at his lips like an animal.

It was agony. He could never get his head far away enough to avoid the man, Bruce always found his lips and continued sucking on them, his tongue trying to get inside past Dick's tightly clenched teeth gritting with tension. He was thrashing, wanting out, like a helpless rabbit caught in a hunter's trap that was big enough to swallow him whole if he didn't escape in time. Bruce was still kissing him, growling impatiently at the boy's constant thrashing and disobedient behaviour. Dick hadn't struggled aggressively like that for a long time.

"Open your mouth," Bruce ordered harshly as he continued thrusting into the boy, his face disordered and aggressive. His voice was inhumanly loud and raspy in his ear. "_Open your mouth!_"

And Dick fearfully obeyed, and his struggling ceased as Bruce forcefully thrust his tongue into the boy's mouth, humming in pleasure as he found no resistance. Dick felt the strange foreign organ move around in his mouth, touching and sucking on his own tongue enthusiastically and he whined at the weird sensation, half tempted to start struggling all over again. Bruce's tongue on his was disgusting, wet and soft and squidgy and knobbly, and he could taste the man's saliva. He could feel Bruce was nearing his limit, his pace was downright merciless now and Dick wondered if he would be able to walk normally tomorrow, sitting on a bus the whole day.

However all of these thoughts in his head disappeared with a loud noise that came from Bruce as he literally squashed him against the desk, increasing his force as if he wanted to eat him alive and Dick could feel tears of pain flowing down his temples as the strength behind the thrusts became unbearable. He cried out into Bruce's mouth, no longer being able to hold the noises in and the man's moan joined him as he came inside him, shaking. A few shallow thrusts later and Bruce collapsed against him with his weight, face burrowed in the boy's neck as both of them inhaled and exhaled loudly, one from pain the other from pleasure.

It was finally over, Dick breathed out with tears in his eyes. It was over.

He let Bruce recover on his own as he lay on the desk, safe in his knowledge that nothing more would be expected of him for at least three next nights. He could feel Bruce's large chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths and his heartbeat was slowly returning to normal as it beat against Dick's skin.

The adrenalin slowly left the boy's body and he started to feel the cold, and the pain, feel it properly and he grimaced at the stinging sensation on his neck where the man's face was currently burrowed. He could feel Bruce go soft inside of him, a feeling so disgusting he would never get used to it, and the flood of pain inside him as the pressure was removed to compress the feeling. There was a slight shift as Bruce pulled himself out, still leaving the front of his body on top of the naked boy, squashing him with his chest. Dick winced at the weight but didn't complain, didn't say anything at all, just waited for Bruce to say something, _move_, let him know it was over and he was free to leave and lick his wounds far away from this terrible room.

He could not erase the disgust he felt when Bruce kissed him, _his first kiss,_ he realized with a rising hysteria. Bruce took away his first kiss. It was so laughable, ridiculous that somebody who did all these horrible things to him would kiss him as if… as if they were _lovers,_ as if Dick was an adult, one of his stupid model girlfriends he was always wooing with money, flowers, cars and sweet kisses on her neck. Disgusting, disgusting!

And then, as if sensing his thoughts, Bruce leaned away from his neck until he was looking down at him with that unreadable expression he sometimes had, and Dick nearly whimpered with dread as he leaned down and kissed him on his bruised lips one more time. The boy forced himself to stay very still and endure it, his eyes shut with dread and fear. And then mercifully his guardian leaned back and pushed himself away from the naked body on the desk, his shirtless chest shining in the moonlight that illuminated the dirty office.

Dick also shakily sat himself up, grimacing at the familiar pain inside of him, looking down to see a small amount of blood on one of his thighs. He was not surprised, it hurt like hell. The boy looked around for his shirt since he really didn't want to walk back to his room completely uncovered but when his eyes finally fell on it, it was already in Bruce's hands, who stood now, still shirtless and with his hair messy, several steps away in the middle of the room.

"Raise your arms," he said, and Dick stared at him for a second, not quite understanding the order and then obeying instantly when he realized that the man wanted to dress him. That was new. Bruce rarely undressed him but never ever _dressed_ him. When he had got what he wanted, Dick was treated like air, and he had learned to grab his things as fast he could and get away before Bruce changed his mind and decided he wanted more.

And yet here he was, being dressed by his guardian like a five year old boy who couldn't do it himself. In his exhaustion, he found nothing wrong with it. It was kind of funny when you looked at it from a certain point of view, and right now he was fine with getting into his clothes instead of out of them. He wanted to sleep. He was so tired.

He obediently stretched out his legs before Bruce even said anything and helped him adjust the pants around the waist, Dick zipping himself up without looking at the man. Then, and he had already expected this, he was lifted from the table and carried over to the entrance of the room, his ferryman having the same concentrated look he had during his first crossing of the river. The whole house was eerily silent as Bruce set him down on the hallway floor, where the carpet was soft underneath his naked feet.

His lips hurt as he whispered "Thank you," staggering slightly, his eyes half-closed.

"You're welcome," Bruce replied.

How ridiculous, to thank a man who did all of this to him, but he was exhausted and had really no idea what he was saying. When he peeked at Bruce's expensive watch, he realized it was eleven o'clock. Plenty of time to clean himself up before he goes to sleep, the practical voice inside of him stated. Perfect, actually. He wondered if Bruce had considerately timed it that way, scheduled underaged sex into his evening so that his victim wouldn't be too tired on his trip the next day.

Without looking back at the man or the terrible room, the boy limped his way through the hallway, going up the stars with his teeth gritted in pain. He glared at the portrait hanging near the staircase as was his habit, and after what felt like eternity, made his way inside his enormous bedroom, finally closing the door behind him.

He was so damn exhausted - he could probably skip the bathroom and just go straight back to sleep. He could just clean himself up in the morning, right? Right.

He calmly looked at the bed, then at his suitcase. He was about to bury himself in the covers when he noticed the strange position of the bag, suddenly remembering that was not how he left it. Was he imagining it?

His steps were careful and extremely slow and he limped his way to the middle of the room, kneeling down by the black suitcase. When he opened it, he noticed that the arrangement of the clothes was all wrong; the jeans he remembered putting in the corner were perfectly folded in the middle, as if taken out and replaced in a new order, and some of his ties were rearranged to be folded more carefully.

Ah, he thought tiredly. It was Alfred. He went through my stuff. Even after we talked about-

Fuck it. _Fuck it_.

He sighed, leaving the suitcase lying where it was and made his way to the bed, pressing his face against the cold pillow. He could feel tears stinging his eyes but damn it, he was too tired to cry so he just rolled over and covered himself with a blanket.

Fuck it. Just fuck it. Tomorrow he would be out of here.

**Author's Note:** Hello, TheAlchemist'sDaughter here. This is another AmberSpirit chapter, next one's going to be mine. I get the first of the epic The Trip chapters (our fic has story arcs, it's so big), yay me. Also, we broke three hundred reviews with the last chapter, woot. We're aiming for this thing to get a thousand when we finally finish it, I think it can be done. We also got some offers of fanart, inspired by AmberSpirit, so if anyone wants to do that, let us know where we can find it, because we'd love to see, and we'll put it in an author's note so everyone else can see it too. And because someone asked in a review, I'm going to tell everyone, my personal idol for Richard is Alex Pettyfer (Alex Rider in Stormbreaker). If you Google Image search him, the pictures where he's looking the hottest are how I think of Richard. I'm also curious about music videos, but I know they would be almost impossible, what with their being very little to no footage of Bruce and Dick as civilians, not to mention of Bruce abusing Dick, so. You'd have to be a master to make it work.

The playlist is getting a bit crazy though. Still more entries. Here they are though:

Tatu - Perfect Enemy (Dick)

Iamx – S.H.E. (Dick), My Secret Friend (Richard/Dick)

Nichole Aldren – Baby Now (Dick)

Good Charlotte – The River (Dick)

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Your Guardian Angel (Richard)

Linkin Park – KRWLNG (Dick), In Pieces (Dick, Bruce)

My Chemical Romance – Sleep (Dick), Teenagers (students)

Three Doors Down – Let Me Go (Bruce, Dick, Richard/Dick?)

Martina McBride – Concrete Angel (Dick)

Suzanne Vega – Luka (Dick)

Tool – Prison Sex (Bruce/Dick)


	27. The Boy Is Let Out

Chapter 27 – The Boy Is Let Out

Dick adjusted his bag on his right shoulder. It felt heavier than it should because he was used to carrying it on the other side, but he couldn't carry it on his left shoulder anymore because of where Bruce had bit him. It was a small wound, but the bruise was deep and just in exactly the wrong place, and Dick was afraid the strap would make it bleed again. His body hurt all over, but he was used to it. He knew he'd got off easy, and was confident that he would be able to move and sit as if there was nothing wrong with him at all, a skill he had learned well, and for good reason.

The boy stood by the car while the driver got his suitcase out of the trunk, looking over at the long black coach that would carry him out of Gotham and, for four days and three nights, away from Bruce Wayne and his butler. The bus was glinting in what little light there was, with the Academy's name curled in silver along the side followed by the coat of arms, and it had tinted windows, making it look more like some space age pod than a coach. Other students who had arrived earlier were hanging around outside it, looking like insects guarding the hive.

Dick scanned their faces, and while he recognised next to all of them, Richard wasn't among them, so the boy wasn't particularly eager to go over.

He heard the dull clunks of his suitcase being removed from the back of the car, and the ensuing rumble of its wheels. The driver passed him the handle. Dick hadn't repacked the case; if Alfred wanted it to be packed his way so badly, Dick would let it. That morning he had just chucked down a couple of painkillers – something that had become almost routine –and thrown what was missing in on top of everything else before zipping the case shut. He'd found a smaller black bag in his closet, pulled the designer's name off the front, and shoved in a few schoolbooks, something to keep him busy on the coach if he needed it. Alfred then gave him a plastic bag with sandwiches and snacks in it and a couple of bottles of water, which had joined the books in the bag.

His mind went back to the moment he had found his suitcase reorganized. Bruce probably had the butler hide a tracking device in it. Oh well, he'd check it when they got to New Carthage, and if he found anything, he'd throw it out of the hotel window. And Bruce wouldn't be able to do anything to him for the next four days, _four whole days_. It felt great, like he was becoming another person. He made sure he didn't think about the moment when he would inevitably have to return to the Manor.

The air around him was still cold from the night before and a little misty, but it was still early. He'd had to wake up several hours before he normally did, so his body was sluggish and stiff. His eyes felt heavy, and he didn't have the energy to keep himself warm against the chill seeping into his clothes. Nevertheless, he was almost nauseous with nervous, giddy excitement. Freedom – four days of absolute, perfect freedom. Who cared if it had to be in a group of Allen Bex students? He'd go with a pack starving vultures if he had to, he thought to himself as he watched a gang of the boys begin punching and pushing each other.

Everything around him was grim and grey, from the black coach dominating the scene, to the way the mist muted the colours of the students' clothes. They didn't have to wear their uniforms on the trip, and it was already apparent to Dick that the boys were taking the opportunity to peacock their style and wealth. They looked more like they should have been waiting for entry to an elusive club in the city centre, not to a bus. Dick wondered at the fashion for having the designer or brand name printed in large letters on a shirt, as if that kind of shameless name-checking made them cool. But still it seemed like those who had gone for a T-shirt instead of a casual dress shirt had all fallen for the same trend. Even their jeans, he noticed, had writing on. Dick didn't know anything about popular clothes, but he knew that if they were making it that obvious, their outfits had to be expensive. He also caught flashes of lights reflecting from rings, bracelets and necklaces; the kind Dick had left at home. Just what were they expecting on this trip? Who were they trying to impress? Surely they were a bit young to be shopping for trophy wives attracted by their money?

As for himself, Dick had dressed as simply as he could, allowing for what he had in his closet, and the standard below which Alfred wouldn't let him out of the house. He was wearing plain blue jeans, black trainers, and a black jacket over a thick grey T-shirt. He had a second, white T-shirt on underneath for warmth. He was well-aware that he stood out amidst his colourful, branded peers, but he didn't care.

It had been few days since his haircut, and it was already looking a little better - thicker, if not longer - but he still wasn't perfectly comfortable with it, and he ran his hand over it almost subconsciously.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" the driver asked when Dick didn't move to join the others. The boy looked at him, then looked away. He was still getting used to adults calling him 'Sir', though his classmates probably expected it from their servants.

"Fine, fine," he reassured the man.

What was this, his first day? He was sticking to the car like a little kid who didn't want to be left behind by their parents to play with the strange other kids - which was ridiculous, because it wasn't like the chauffeur had any emotional attachment to him whatsoever, nor the boy to him. The man offered him no protection.

As soon as he thought that, Dick realised he was almost certainly wrong. Bruce would not allow that. This unassuming servant, whose name he didn't even know, was probably under orders to protect Dick with his life if he had to. The boy looked back at the driver. The man's suit jacket covered most of his torso, so Dick couldn't see if he had a holster or a gun, but it wouldn't have surprised him. There might even have been a gun hidden in the car somewhere. Bulletproof glass? Dick looked at his face, for some sign of the man being battle-hardened or a martial arts expert. His hair was a little short maybe, but that didn't mean anything, Dick's hair was short too. However, his chauffeur's face was inscrutable.

Dick remembered thinking it was strange that Bruce didn't have a bodyguard, but he was much more of a target. As far as any potential kidnappers knew, Bruce cared for him, loved him even, and would eagerly pay any ransom. And yet he had such a predictable routine, leaving the house for school every weekday, driving by the same route, repeating the process in the evening, always at the same time. It only made sense that these nameless drivers were more than just chauffeurs. The more Dick thought about it, the more sense it made. None of them were over fifty, nor too young to have military experience. It explained Ms Dominatrix's severe manner, and why she had been fired; not because Dick had freaked out, but because they had been near the police station when it exploded, because Dick had been in danger. She had failed to keep him safe.

Why hadn't he realised sooner? It was so obvious. He was always escorted everywhere, the drivers always staying to make sure he got to the school doors before leaving. It was because Bruce wasn't really paying them to drive – Alfred could have done that – he was paying them to protect him, something the old butler couldn't have done. Protect and watch him, of course.

Dick tightened his grip on the suitcase handle, looking up the man beside him in his black suit.

"Thank you," he said.

The driver nodded. "Enjoy your trip, Sir," he replied.

Dick turned back to the gang of boys by the bus and, gathering his courage, walked towards them. This was a good thing, a very good thing. He was being let out of Bruce's clutches. That was what it was, after all. He was being let out, he wasn't escaping. He knew the difference.

He could see the open baggage compartment, and he headed to it first. As he walked, he kept his eyes lowered, not particularly wanting to attract the attention of the older boys, recognising Josh McTravis among them. Nevertheless, his attention was caught when out of the hulking black coach stepped Richard. The older teen wasn't smiling, his face was serious and he looked like he was concentrating, and Dick remembered that his friend was on the trip to help the teachers. He was meant to be an authority figure, to keep control of the group and make sure everything ran smoothly. He was not there to wait on one freshman. Dick suddenly felt the difference between their ages like a great divide; Richard was 18, he was given responsibilities nobody would trust Dick with, and he would graduate at the end of the year, and escape this school and this city, and what would Dick do then?

Richard saw Dick then, and smiled suddenly, and it was like the sunny colour of his hair, the sky blue of his eyes, and the shine from his white teeth drove away the bleaching mist and made the morning just a few degrees warmer and more vibrant.

"Dick! Hey!" He came over and Dick lifted his small suitcase into the baggage hold.

"Hey, Richard," Dick replied, unable to stop himself from smiling back. Very soon, he was going to be free, in a whole new place with his friend.

"Excited?" the blonde asked him.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah, I just got the itinerary for the whole trip. It's looking good, you'll get one too once we're on the road," he said.

"Ok, cool." Dick didn't really care what they would be doing, it wasn't the activities that he was excited about, but Richard's enthusiasm was rubbing off on him and he was a little curious. He'd already read the plays, _Macbeth_ and _Hamlet_, and they'd been doing them in class, but he didn't know how the class would be spending its days.

"Ok. I have to go put some parents' minds at ease, but I'll see you later, yeah?" Richard made moves to go, and Dick could see the small group of parents who had stayed hovering by their cars, but the blonde seemed reluctant to go until Dick gave him confirmation.

"Yeah, sure."

"Ok, bye," and Richard smiled again before turning to charm the adults.

Not having anything else to do, and not wanting to stand around by himself outside and risk attracting the attention of McTravis and his cronies, Dick got onto the bus. As he climbed the steps, he met the teachers sitting in the front four seats, including his own, Mr Luca. He nodded to them but didn't stick around to chat.

He picked a seat in the middle of the bus and sat down next to the window. The black leather of the chair was freezing because of the open door but the whole bus still smelt of it. Dick pulled his jacket tighter around him and turned his face to the window. He thought maybe he would take a little nap and catch up on the sleep he'd missed this morning, but the second he closed his eyes, he felt a creeping panic that made sleep impossible. His instincts were screaming at him that the area wasn't safe, it was too open, there were too many people around to sleep. Any of the other kids walking down the aisle could see him sleeping and he knew enough about teenage boy behaviour to know that such an easy target would not be passed up – but it wasn't really that, he admitted to himself, was it?

He sighed. After last night it wasn't surprising that he was feeling particularly paranoid and victimised. What Bruce had done... Dick had expected that his guardian wouldn't let him go without a 'goodbye', and he had resigned himself to having his body used and bruised as usual. He had even been passive, unresisting, in the hopes of being able to enjoy his trip without stiff muscles and sore bones, but he had still been washing blood from between his legs that morning, and trying to find a plaster that would fit the bite on his shoulder. What the fuck was Bruce's problem? Was that man just going to get crazier and crazier, demanding more and more of Dick until he ate the boy up?

Dick pressed his lips together, still trying to get rid of the feeling of Bruce kissing him. His tongue could still feel the older man's in his mouth, still taste him, as if he was tapping into some parallel universe where that event was still going on, would never end. Dick grimaced and tried to swallow his stomach down. It was stupid, but his eyes burned as if he was going to cry. Why shed tears over a kiss after everything else that had been done to him? But a kiss was so tied up with ideas of intimacy, passion and love that it seemed like a new level of cruelty from the Wayne heir. And it seemed so wrong somehow; to have the adult's squishy tongue inside him as well as his... his mouth violated at the same time as his body. Nothing was safe from the billionaire. He wanted all of Dick until there was nothing left.

The boy tried not to think about it. He took deep breaths to calm and cleanse himself. He was leaving, he was going away from that place and that man. For the next four days, there wouldn't be any chance of an old English butler knocking on his door to send him to a filthy immoral hole to feed a man and his monstrous need. Where he was going was clean and untainted, there would be no memories. Nobody knew the truth in New Carthage. He could lock his door. Who knew, maybe he would be able to sleep soundly, have nice dreams for once. The weather was even supposed to be nice.

It felt so good, the prospect of freedom. It was his first taste of it in almost a year. He had never tried to reach for it before, despite everything he had to run from. He had thought about escaping, of course, in the beginning. He had dreamt of running away for months after Bruce had first taken him into the forbidden room. Looking back, those dreams made that past Dick look so young. Didn't he know there was no escaping Bruce Wayne? Didn't he realise what the man was capable of?

But no, he hadn't been taught that yet. He hadn't found the cameras in his room, but now it was easy to see why every time he had started packing a bag, Alfred would appear at his door with some excuse to take him out of his room until late that night, when all his plans were ruined. All he had known at the time was that any time he touched a door that could take him outside, the butler was suddenly there, politely inquiring if he had any plans for that afternoon. He could remember the way whichever chauffeur was on duty would stand up straighter if he saw the boy alone, how one time he had actually come inside the Academy looking for Dick when the boy had been late coming to the car. And then there was the time that Dick had simply hid amongst the trees at the furthest point of the grounds and cried, only to find that Alfred had mobilised an army of servants to search the grounds as soon as the old man had noticed he was gone.

The message was very clear and he learned the lesson fast. He couldn't leave Wayne Manor without Alfred knowing about it. The school wasn't safe either. There was nowhere he could go where they could not find him. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't escape, they wouldn't give him the chance.

Slowly the bus was filling up and becoming noisier. McTravis' gang had taken up the back seat, and that seemed to be the centre of activity, with more and more empty seats the closer they got to front, so Dick was left relatively in peace, the only other people around also being quiet and keeping mostly to themselves. Dick heard the muffled slams of the baggage hold being closed, and Mr Luca stood up.

"Ok, everybody! Can I have your attention?" he cried, and the bus slowly quietened. "We're about to get going, so everybody make sure you've got everything. We should arrive in New Carthage at around five o'clock, and we're going straight to the hotel. _We will assign your rooms_, but if you really want to change come and talk to us first, it's very important that we know exactly who is where! I want you to unpack and settle in, dinner will be downstairs at six-thirty, _do not be late_! After that, you're free to do what you want, but _do not leave the_ _hotel_!

Dick thought Mr Luca looked and sounded like a man who was undertaking a venture that he already knew would fail. He seemed to expect the group of students to turn rabid the second the bus got onto the highway.

"There are some rules on this trip! Number one; no alcohol or drugs of any kind!" There was a loud groan from the back of the bus, followed by a burst of laughter. "Number two; stay with the group, we don't want any of you getting lost! And number three; be on time, we have several guided tours scheduled and if we have to wait for you it will throw off the entire day! Other than that, just behave yourselves, listen to the senior guides, and do what we tell you. Let's try to have fun, okay? Thank you," he finished, and he sat down. The bus sent up a cheer, and Dick couldn't stop himself from smiling into his hand as he faced the window. He could feel Wayne Manor slipping away into a tiny dot in the distance until it disappeared completely, and the cloying grip of Bruce's power loosening and slipping off. He was leaving it all behind. He breathed deeply, the easiest breath he'd taken in a long time.

As the bus rolled on, Richard stood up and began making his way down the aisle, handing out packs of paper. When he got to Dick, he paused.

"You ok?" he asked. "You look a little..."

Dick took the little stack of papers that the blonde was holding out for him. "I'm fine," he replied, smiling. "It's just a bit early for me."

"Ok, good. It would suck if you got sick or something," Richard said, still looking Dick over as if he wasn't convinced.

"Don't worry," Dick reassured him. "I feel great."

Richard grinned then. "Good to know," he said, before moving on down the bus. Dick looked at the sheets he'd been given. They included the itinerary, as well as contact numbers for all the teachers, a print-out of Mr Luca's rules in more detail, and other general information that seemed fairly standard for a trip like this. Dick tossed it into the empty seat beside him.

Dick knew he had books in his bag, but he didn't feel the need to read them. He enjoyed the opportunity to do nothing, to relax and not have to be afraid.

Richard soon returned, swinging into the seat beside Dick. The older boy must have misjudged the space, because his shoulder was pressed firmly into Dick's, who shifted away, uncomfortable at the touch. He leaned against the window to see Richard better, but in the small space, there wasn't room to keep their legs from touching. Dick tried to arrange his so that they slid into the empty space under and between the blonde's, but Richard was tall, and his legs were long. He didn't seem to mind the tangle though, so Dick relaxed, not wanting to draw attention to his awkwardness in case Richard got offended.

"Ah, now that's done, I don't think I have to do anything else until we get to the hotel. And if the teacher's want me, they can just come find me, right?" he said, rubbing his palms down his thighs as if trying to get comfortable. He was wearing a dark blue shirt over a white Tee, with fashionably ripped jeans. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms and their glinting gold hair, and Dick caught glimpses of more tanned skin through the frayed tears in the denim of his trousers. That, coupled with the slightly stretched out neck of his T-shirt that allowed the teen's collarbone to be seen, gave Richard an overall look of loose, casual warmth, like he would be more at home on a Californian beach than an East Coast city. It just reminded Dick of how different the two of them were, and how Richard clearly belonged in another world, and any time Dick spent with him was just out of luck.

"Can you believe I'm going to have to share a room with Mr Luca? There's something so very wrong about that," Richard said, pulling a face. He leant out into the aisle to look up at where the teachers were sitting, then moved closer to Dick as if he didn't want to be overheard. He seemed always to be moving, to have so much energy, entertaining Dick and making him feel privileged just to sit and watch him. "But still, better him than Miss Wattes, or Mr Jameson. Between you and me, I think there's something going on there," he added.

"No way," Dick replied. "Please tell me you're joking." Neither Wattes nor Jameson were particularly young or attractive, and the idea of them together produced a mental image Dick could have done without.

Richard shrugged and leaned back in his seat, his face still turned towards Dick. "Just the impression I get, is all," he said, grinning at Dick's reaction. "So I'd take Luca any day."

After that, the conversation turned to the other teachers at the school, and Dick was surprised by how much personal information Richard knew about them. He seemed to know all about who did what with whom and when, and who knew or didn't know about it, and what they did when they found out.

When Dick commented on it, Richard just shrugged again and said, "I don't know, I guess I just hear stuff after school during my extra-curriculars. Teachers seem to relax when classes are over, you wouldn't believe the stuff they tell me. Maybe it's my eyes," he joked, batting his eyelashes at Dick and pushing closer, forcing the younger boy to scoff and put his hand on the senior's arm to shove him away again.

But on the inside, he was thinking about all the secrets he held that he would never, ever reveal to his friend. He cursed Bruce again for placing that wall between his ward and the blonde.

Dick only realised how much time had passed when McTravis and his gang began to get bored and pester the teachers to let a DVD be played on the television screens throughout the bus. They consented, obviously just wanting to keep the students complacent and manageable. After a further discussion between Josh and his cronies, they finally settled on a movie that Dick had heard about but never seen, not having seen many movies in his life. He knew it was supposed to be some great work, with one of those twists that went down in history, but really, he couldn't be bothered to pay close enough attention, so all he saw whenever he happened to glance at the screen was a lot of fighting.

Richard noticed when the younger boy lost interest after the first few minutes.

"Not your sort of thing?" he asked, nodding his head at the screen.

"I haven't seen it before," Dick answered.

"No? Man, you really should, it totally messes with your head. It's a really good film."

"What's it about?"

"Well, it starts with this guy who hates his life, and he meets this other guy, only..." Richard seemed to rethink what he was going to say. "I can't really tell you without giving it away."

"It's ok, you can just tell me," Dick encouraged.

"That would ruin it. Tell you what, why don't you come 'round to my house next week and we can watch it together?" he offered.

Dick would have loved to go, but he knew he couldn't. Bruce hadn't let him go to Richard's house to practice gymnastics, preferring instead to install a full gymnasium; Dick doubted his guardian would agree to it just so the boy could see a movie, and frankly, it wasn't worth the possible consequences that asking might have for him. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he tried to think of a way to refuse the invitation without offending Richard.

"Why don't you just lend it to me? That's probably a better idea, then we don't have to work out when we're both free, and all that stuff..." he tried awkwardly.

"It's ok, I'm not too busy at the moment, it wouldn't be any trouble. Unless... you don't want to?" Richard asked, as if he was just curious, but there was something unusual in his voice.

"No! Of course I do! It would just be more convenient-"

"But Wayne won't let you. You want to come, but you're not allowed to leave the house, are you?"

Dick went cold. Not this again. Why couldn't Richard just let it drop, and why had Dick allowed himself to think his friend had forgotten his suspicions of what was really going on? He had to come up with something fast, Richard was watching him for a reaction, and the blonde wasn't smiling anymore.

"Richard..." Dick began, but then thankfully he was saved. Mr Luca had stood up and was calling for everyone's attention again.

"Everyone! I would like you to all sign the rules that you have in your pack to show that you have read and understood them! This means that if you break any, we have the right to send you home, so make sure you do that. Richard will be coming around to collect them, so do that now. Thank you," he told the group.

Richard looked back at Dick and stood up. "Forget I said anything," he said, before walking away. Dick watched him go, relieved but uneasy. He watched the older boy move slowly down the bus, collecting up all the signed sheets, then got out his own. When Richard came to take it off him, he hardly looked at Dick, then spent the rest of the bus ride sitting in the front with the teachers. Dick was afraid he'd ruined it between them and that this was going to be a lonely four days, but what could he have done? He couldn't tell Richard the truth, he just _couldn't_. He wouldn't be able to handle the shame, the look in his friend's eyes if he knew. Dick had to make it look like Bruce was a good guardian, no matter what it cost him.

He spent the rest of the journey in silence, watching the road run past.

**Author's Note: **Woo, so, let's get this party started! The first chapter of the epic Trip story arc! You're welcome :) This thing is going to take up the next few chapters, but don't worry, Bruce will have a definite presence. Excited?

Did anyone see that recent episode (8?) of Young Justice where Robin is training in the gym and Batman is watching him on cameras? We did. Hello.

A few things: First, in the second last chapter, took out the English teacher's name, both times. I don't know why, but it was a glitch, not bad editing on our part. Mr Luca is the teacher Richard was talking about in the restaurant.

Second, we have more fanart to pimp, including some by a reader, tigersmt334 ! We love it, thanks so much for doing it and spreading the loooove. Seriously, check it out guys! Just type Reckoning TBITM into deviantart and it should come up. And if you want to see AmberSpirit's latest, type in Untangle Me Richard. You know that sounds good ;)

Thirdly, the playlist. Does anyone actually look up any of these songs?

Bullet for my valentine - Your Betrayal (Dick/Bruce)  
Avenged Sevenfold - Save me (Dick), Victim (Dick), Scream (Bruce)  
Disturbed - The Night (Bruce/Batman)

Kamelot - March of Mephisto (Bruce/Dick/Richard)  
Stonesour – Made of Scars  
Seether – Breakdown, Plastic Man (Dick)  
Rise Against – The Strength to Go On (Dick)  
Story of the Year – Choose Your Faith (Bruce/Dick)  
Radiohead – Exit Music, Talk Show Host  
Bloc Party – Compliments  
Garbage – Tell Me Where It Hurts (Richard/Dick)  
Sia – I'm in here (Dick)  
Birthday Massacre – Red Stars (Dick)  
Nelly Furtado – Stars  
My Chemical Romance – Mama  
Disturbed – Down With the Sickness (Dick)  
Papa Roach – I almost told you that I love you (Bruce)  
Patrick Wolf – Overture (adult!Dick)  
Thrice – The Lion and the Wolf


	28. The Boy's Touch

**Chapter 28 - A Boy's Touch**

It was better this way.

Looking at their relationship from all possible angles, Dick had to admit that Richard not talking to him was a good thing. It was too dangerous, not only for himself but the older boy as well. Moments with Richard made him happy and strong and normal but even he could recognize that the amount of time he spent recollecting their conversations in the darkness of his room was unhealthy and even somewhat alarming. It was as if he was a child secretly keeping a pet under his bed, away from the eyes of the father who would throw it out the moment he discovered its existence. Dick could not help feeling that Bruce would do something terrible if he found out that Richard accompanied his class on the trip. Dick didn't want to find out what.

"Make sure you throw all your trash in the bin bags under your seats," Mr. Luca stated with a tired voice. Dick looked at the empty seat next to him, his unopened sandwiches peeking from within his bag, reminding him of Alfred's cold polite voice and the careful way he administrated almost everything; whether it was cooking, carrying a priceless tea set on a tray up the stairs, or cleaning crusted blood from Dick's raw skin. Alfred handled each task with the same amount of care, regardless of whether what he was washing was china or human.

The boy dragged his eyes away from the bag and for the millionth time that day, they found the back of Richard's head at the front of the bus. It was better this way, for both him and the blonde… and yet he couldn't stop himself from trying to meet his friend's eyes, feeling nervous and regretful; like a pathetic mutt on the street that was fed once and howled in front of the human's house for a whole night, hoping for more.

But if Richard's straight back told him anything, it was that there was nothing more to give. And that was better.

It was better, damn it.

"Long ride, huh?"

Dick glanced to his left and blinked at a skinny-looking boy half-sitting on the seat that Richard previously occupied. Dick vaguely remembered him from his English class and wondered about the reason he decided to approach him. It was probably Bruce's money and contacts - wasn't it always? Even teachers treated him like he was made of cash. He instinctively shied away from the boy, who was too close for Dick's liking, even though he still had one leg in the aisle.

"I guess," he replied disinterestedly, not really wanting to talk. The boy would probably report everything Dick said to his friends and then they would either over-analyze it or laugh at him. In both cases it was better to talk as little as possible. One-word answers was something that he used often when interacting with his classmates.

"So, like…did you read the plays?"

The boy was obviously struggling to come up with a conversational topic and his effort showed that he was determined to make Dick talk, which was suspicious in itself. Realizing he would not be able to brush this off, Dick turned to fully face the skinny teen, focusing on his face and trying to give it a name. The boy hadn't introduced himself. He probably assumed Dick knew who he was after a year of Advanced English together.

"Yes. We had to write essays on both of them last month."

"Oh, yeah, that's true. But like… some people don't even read it then."

The boy had a shockingly unremarkable face that suggested he should be wearing glasses even though he didn't. Dick glanced away from the boy in irritation, not feeling up to making small talk with someone who'd never shown any interest in him before he was exposed as Bruce's heir, especially not after what had just happened with Richard. Dick decided to be even ruder to give the guy the message as quickly as possible.

"Hm," was his eventual dismissive grunt.

"I bet you got a great mark," the boy said while Dick listened for evidence that he was just sucking up. Why would the boy assume that? Because he had been deemed worthy to become a Wayne, of course. It made Dick want to turn to the boy and spill everything about his marks, about how he hard he found the school, and about the bribes and favours Bruce was undoubtedly having to dish out to keep him in the Academy at all. But he knew that would only lead to more questions, and setting the record straight would be interpreted as an invitation for conversation, and Dick _did not want to talk about it. _The boy was looking at him with the eyes of somebody who wanted you to like him, and Dick wondered if he looked that way to Richard, as a needy boy wanting acceptance that he couldn't get from anybody else.

No, stop thinking about it. It's better this way. Better.

Involuntarily, his eyes found themselves moving to Richard's general direction and he was surprised to see that the blond was half turned in his seat, watching Dick from a distance. Their eyes met for a split second and despite wanting to achieve eye contact for the past two hours, Dick quickly looked away. He felt awkward and wretched and suddenly acutely aware of his aching body and bruises. The pain pills he took that morning were wearing off and he was becoming aware of a numb pain between his legs and a headache. The bite mark on his shoulder was fine as long as he didn't mess with it.

"We should be there soon…Have you ever been to New York?"

"No," Dick mumbled. It was a lie. He had been there once with the Circus, but for some reason that information seemed too intimate to share.

He looked out of the window, watching the cars pass them by while the bus stayed still. They were already in New Carthage and slowed down by traffic, the bus stuck in a long line of cars full of angry drivers and honking horns. Dick looked up at the skyscrapers hovering above their bus and felt unimpressed and slightly disappointed. After living in Gotham for more than a year Dick had seen his share of impossibly tall buildings and glowing neon ads shining brightly from a distance. There was nothing extravagant about it and he realized how different Gotham was from the rest of the world. It was like the city existed in its own universe and could not be replicated anywhere else.

"My uncle lives in New York City so I have been here a few times. Never New Carthage though. It looks pretty alright so far."

Dick turned back to the older boy and opened his mouth to speak. He wasn't sure what he was going to say but it would no doubt have been aggressive, and he was glad that he was stopped in mid sentence by Mr. Luka's tired voice. He didn't really want to be cruel to the boy, this was just a really bad time.

"I want everyone to double check their belongings and make sure you left nothing behind. I also need everybody's school ID so before you step outside, make sure you hand yours to Richard."

Dick blinked in surprise at the words and looked out of the window again. He hadn't even realized that the bus had stopped moving. They had apparently arrived at their destination. He turned back to his classmate who was smiling at him uncertainly. There was already a line forming behind him.

"Guess it's time to go," the boy stated cheerily and gripped Dick's shoulder in a friendly manner, making Dick's heart jump with panic. He was touching the bite mark and it hurt, and the sensation made him surprisingly aggressive and scared - the memories were too fresh and his instincts were telling him that the boy posed a threat. He clenched his fists nervously and shrugged the unwelcome touch off; his face dark as he glared at the hand that immediately drew back. He tried hard to get himself under control and reassure himself that he was safe, that the boy was harmless. This would have never happened if it was Richard sitting here. Richard kept everyone away. Richard's touch never made him feel threatened, not to this degree.

_Richard doesn't want anything to do with you._

"Err, I guess I'd better go get my stuff then," the nameless boy suggested weakly, no doubt confused by Dick's strange behaviour. True to his word he stood up and wriggled down the aisle, past the slowly moving line of boys getting out of the bus. Each of them were giving Richard their IDs before they exited and Dick reached for his bag, his fingers unreliable and movements awkward as he tried to focus on finding his wallet. The bus was almost empty and he waited until the last boy made his way outside and it was only him and Richard before moving towards the blonde.

He didn't know what to say. Apologize? Lie? Wasn't the best thing just to stay silent? He needed Richard to leave him alone but something in his chest, something needy and possessive and desperate had already claimed Richard as his own; his own personal best friend, _the only friend_, who he thought of whenever things got rough. He could hardly believe that they had started to hang out only three weeks ago, it felt so much longer but then again, his time at the Manor always passed agonizingly slowly as if even that was controlled by Bruce.

Dick walked up to Richard with his hand clutching his ID in a sweaty grip. He should stay silent but he wanted to apologize _so much_. Richard wasn't looking at him, seemingly busy with the rest of the cards, shuffling them back and forth as one would shuffle a deck. His fingers were long and elegant and Dick tore his eyes away. The older boy must have known Dick was there; he was just ignoring him.

"Here you go," Dick mumbled, unsure and saddened.

"Thanks," Richard responded and their hands didn't make contact as he took the card and neatly shuffled it with the rest. Dick shifted from one foot to another and opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry. About the movie thing." He hadn't had to apologise to anyone in a long time. He hadn't had anyone to apologise _to_ in a long time. Only Bruce, and when that happened, it was more like begging.

Richard lifted his eyes from the pile of cards and looked down at Dick's face. He seemed surprised by the words.

"You what? What are you talking about?" Then, without giving him a chance to respond, continued. "It's just a stupid movie. It doesn't have anything to do with…Look, it's not your fault. Like I said: forget about it."

Dick wanted to force the issue, ask something embarrassing like '_Why are you mad at me, then?' _but he didn't have the confidence and his fear of Richard's answer made him keep his mouth shut. It was better this way. Better.

"Ok," he mumbled and swiftly made his way outside, his face burning with embarrassment. Richard must think he's some sort of a freak, or maybe he grew tired of him. Maybe the reason he should just '_forget about it'_ was because Dick could be easily replaced by somebody else. The thought made his chest warm with anger that was different from the one he felt with Bruce.

The fresh air blew past his hot cheeks and he wordlessly joined the group standing by the bus, his eyes never leaving the ground. One of the boys bumped into his shoulder as he moved to talk with his friends and Dick swayed unsteadily on his feet, hating the crowd. For a split second he wanted to be back at the manor; to be able to hear nothing but his own sounds and take comfort in the silence and the utter solitude of the house. But then he remembered how he was never truly alone and the merciless cameras watching his every move.

"-I've been to the one in Los Angeles, you know. It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah, right, get out of here! Your _dad_ probably hasn't set a foot into one of these!"

"Yeah I have, you ass. They have these neat water tanks in the bedrooms where-"

"Oh _please_, anyone who watched that documentary could tell you that. Stop being a sore loser, Mark. You've never been to one."

"Ok, what the fuck? I'll let you know that-"

Dick took a few steps from the shouting pair and slowly lifted his head, his eyes travelling from the long carpet under his feet to a pair of uniformed young men helping with some of their baggage, wearing dark blue suits with black bowties. His gaze continued up to the front entrance and then higher and higher, until he had to take a few steps back to see the large elegant sign above the entrance.

AQUAZ.

Dick blinked at the familiar word, trying to remember where he had heard the name before. His mind took him to the night of the press conference and the party that followed right after; a mess of important looking men, percentages, shareholders and businesses. He recalled Bruce discreetly explaining to him about a man called Francis Clayton who owned the remaining percentage of the AQUAZ chain of luxury hotels, with Wayne Industries owning more than 50 percent. Dick's heart started beating faster at the realization, and he quickly glanced at one of the teachers who was explaining something to the nearby bellboy who was nodding his head without a word. Could it be a coincidence? Or did Bruce arrange for Dick's whole class to stay at AQUAZ? Logically, no matter how rich these kids were their parents wouldn't be willing to spend that much money just on three days at this kind of hotel…Or would they? Dick had a hard time comparing himself with his classmates when it came to financial situations…They were rich but were they rich enough to afford this kind of luxury? Some of them, maybe, but all of them? Did Bruce pay extra just so they would stay at this hotel? He certainly had enough money and the teachers at Allen Bex would be willing to go very far just to satisfy their most generous donor.

Just as he was thinking of how much of this was just paranoia and how much was survival instinct, Miss Wattes looked away from the bellboy and met Dick's eyes across the crowd of students. She gave him a short smile, and with that he _knew_. His heart clenched with fear and a feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He had been so stupid, getting his hopes up for this trip like a fool. He should have known that things such as hope were not permitted under Bruce's influence. He'd forgotten one of his primary rules of surviving: _never_ _allow yourself to yearn for anything because then it hurts twice as much when you lose it_.

His eyes immediately searched for Richard, his calming point that would allow him to think rationally and without fear. He was talking to Mr. Luca and the teachers started to lead the group into the hotel, a pair of boys at the front trying not to look impressed and failing. Dick's eyes took in the details of the front hall and the ridiculously lavish waterfall at its centre with a life-sized statue of a man pointing a trident towards the ceiling. He had seen indoor fountains before but a _waterfall?_

"Dude, check this out!"

Dick turned to where one of the boys was pointing and blinked at the sight of the reception desks that were made entirely of glass, with small golden fish swimming inside. The girls behind the 'desk' all had the same hairstyle and uniform and were looking at them with a polite but curious expression. Dick guessed that this was not the kind of a place that had many students staying over, especially a group as big as this.

"Follow me!" Mr. Luka shouted at the group, much quieter this time and everybody followed after with a slow, distracted pace. It was beyond obvious that even the teachers were impressed, no matter how hard they tried to hide it, and Dick wondered how much a single night at this place even cost. He was surprised to realize that no matter how much money Bruce put into him every day, he was still not immune to the extravagant charm of this place. It was really hard to act nonchalant when you had a fucking waterfall of _that_ size thrust in you face right after you enter. His eyes lingered at the detailed crystal decorations holding the whole thing together and he could not comprehend how somebody could _own_ all of this.

It was…_so much_ money. He felt like he was in a middle of some bizarre dream.

"Alright, now we will assign you your rooms and give you one card each, two for every room," Mr. Luca explained as he led them across the massive hall, his hands nervously adjusting his collar and fixing his loose tie. "Don't lose it! You will need the card to activate the elevator at the hotel so if you don't have it you won't be able to get to the upper levels. Anyone who loses theirs would have to pay an extra fee."

Dick looked at the people moving in and out of the main hall. It was mostly older people yet there were a few young women thrown into the mix; smooth hair and soft lipstick and the way they walked reminded him of Bruce's little private parties in the evenings with drunk models and giggling blondes. And then, as if hearing his thoughts, one of the women that was effortlessly making her way outside the hall in thin high heels suddenly stopped and turned her head, her wide smile suggesting she recognized somebody.

Dick's heart froze in his chest.

Through the small crowd he glimpsed the familiar tall figure, the large back that was turned away from him, facing the young woman as she went to intimately embrace the man. It couldn't be, he couldn't have-

Dick continued to stare with horror at the pair and his throat went dry, his stomach ready to throw up anything he ate that day with repulsion. The dark-haired man was slowly turning around, one of his hands casually around the back of the woman's neck, like Bruce has done to him so many times in the past and oh my God he must be going crazy because-

"-yson. Excuse me, Mr Grayson!"

Dick turned around and was surprised to find Mr. Jameson standing right next to him with a look that clearly suggested Dick was making him nervous. When Dick turned to look back at the pair walking down the hall he spotted the man's face and realized he was just a stranger…Bruce wasn't here…he was just being paranoid again…he needed to calm down.

"Yes?" he responded finally and the teacher stepped a bit closer and leant down, as if he didn't want the rest of the class to hear. It was pointless since they were standing apart from the group and nobody would have been able to hear them anyway. Dick shifted uncomfortably at the close proximity.

"Mr. Wayne has requested for you to have one of the…_corner_ rooms on the floor," the man explained and smiled down at him as if he was congratulating him for winning some sort of an award. Dick frowned as the man handed him a golden card and from the corner of his eyes he could see that the rest of his classmates had plain blue ones. He understood that a corner room must be special. It would probably be twice the size, or have a Jacuzzi or a view of the city's most famous landmark or something.

How _predictable_. Of course Bruce would want to separate him, _isolate_ him. The rest of the boys shared their room in pairs and Dick was the only one on his own; the Wayne heir unable to stand the thought of anyone else even sleeping in the same room as his pet.

He softly thanked the teacher and walked over to the group of boys chatting excitedly by the reception desk. His gaze fell on McTravis who was subtly giving him the evil eye. Dick didn't want another confrontation but it seemed that it was already too late because the boy slammed his shoulder into dick's as he passed, making him wince as the blow hit some of his wounds from the night before. McTravis smirked down at him smugly, pleased with himself.

"You sure have it nice, _Dick_."

McTravis nodded at the golden card in the boy's hand and his lips twisted crookedly at the mention of Dick's name, the word sounded positively obscene coming from his mouth. He leaned casually against one of the crystal decorations lining the wall and grinned at Dick's annoyed expression. It seemed that even if he was ignored, McTravis refused to back down. Frankly, Dick was sick and tired of it.

"It's none of your business, McTravis," he mumbled back, trying to appear non-confrontational but having difficulties keeping his temper in check. He didn't give a shit about what McTravis' problem with him was; it had nothing to do with his financial situation, Dick knew that, since before the teen used to tease him about being poor, and now he teased him because of Bruce's money. It was refreshing in a way, being treated the same regardless of wealth, but Dick still saw it as another thing to blame Bruce for. Clearly, Josh wanted to start a fight with him and didn't really need a reason.

"You watch yourself, Grayson." McTravis took a large step forward and was now face to face with Dick, his angry eyes so dark they appeared to be almost black.

"Hey, hey, now, no fighting."

Both boys lifted their heads at the third presence in their little trash talk and before he could dodge it, a hand came out of nowhere and smacked Joshua at the back of his head, similarly to how a parent would discipline a child. Dick glanced up at the tall figure of Richard who was glaring at McTravis behind a fake smile.

"Collin's waiting for you," he reminded him light-heartedly, although there was something in the blonde's voice that was as dark as McTravis' eyes. Joshua appeared to be torn for a second, as if he was ready to take on both of them in the middle of a building owned by Bruce Wayne, but then he glanced at his friend waiting by the elevators and with one last glare at Dick, walked away.

"What a douche," Richard stated. Silently agreeing with him, the boy looked up and saw the blonde smiling cheerily as if nothing had happened and Dick felt something heavy in his chest - something that was full of Bruce's dark gaze and his classmates mindless chatter - completely disappear like it never existed in the first place. He grinned back and suddenly realized how ridiculous he was, thinking Richard would snub him like the rest of the kids at school. Looking at his friend now it was almost impossible to imagine him giving the cold shoulder to _anyone_.

"You have your card?" Richard asked and Dick nodded, unable to stop smiling.

"Good," the older boy responded, grinning as well. Both of them must look like complete retards to the rest of the hall, Dick thought absentmindedly. "Make sure you enjoy your stay then. I heard the bathtubs here have this crazy bubble mechanism going on."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have time to check it out, in your _shared bathroom with Mr. Luca,_" Dick responded teasingly.

"Oh my God." Richard shook his head and glanced at the group of teachers standing behind the reception desk. "Don't remind me."

"I can try, but I can't make any promises," Dick replied, hoping his teasing wasn't offending the senior as he wasn't really sure if Richard was just being funny or genuinely didn't want to talk about it. He always found it extremely hard to tell whenever his peers were joking.

"Anyhow, you probably heard about this, but dinner is in the dining hall at six-thirty. Not the formal one," Richard added after a pause and at Dick's confused expression, quickly explained. "There are two dining halls here apparently. One formal and one informal. We're going to be going to the informal one until the last night where we have to dress up."

Dick grimaced at the mention of formal wear and Richard mirrored his expression.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Suits aren't really my thing, either, but this whole trip is just an excuse to show off the latest collection. First the theatre and now this."

Dick's was suddenly acutely aware of his new suits carefully folded in his trunk and glanced away, uncomfortable with the topic. Richard probably took this as his cue to leave and with a soft touch to his shoulder and a short "I'll see you at dinner, circus boy," he was gone.

Dick felt a pleasant tingle at the spot where the blonde had touched him and despite the brief pain he caused to the bite mark, the friendly pat left him feeling cheerful and light-headed. His mind went back to the nameless boy in the bus and how he touched him the same way, triggering Dick's internal alarm. Richard never made him feel threatened. He was different from the rest.

Dick shouldered his bag and made his way to the elevator, ready now to enjoy this trip.

0o0

0

0o0

**! IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE !**

**AmberSpirit:**_ Ok, guys I have a HUGE FAVOUR to ask from all of you. This only concerns you if you are a writer yourself and follow the Batman comics enough to know about DAMIAN WAYNE. If you don't, go ahead and skip over this._

_**I'm a HUGE Damian/Dick fan (yes you've read that right, Damian on TOP), whether the relationship is platonic, romantic future AU whatever. The problem is that there are SO FEW fics with this pairing I end up being desperate. So what I'm gonna do now is whore myself to you guys: WRITE ME A DAMIAN/DICK FIC OF ANY KIND AND IF YOU'LL SEND ME A LINK I WILL DRAW YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT. I'm talking at least five pages here. Are you up for it? Pleaaaseeeee…**_

_**I'm seriously gonna cry if nobody responds to this **_

_On another note, I hope you enjoyed your daily dose of Richard. Also before I forget we had a poem written about this story! You can find it on deviantart under the author 00ParanormalWolf00_

_Also more songs! We will be closing this in a few chapters, choosing the most fitting ones to create a TBITM playlist. _**(ed. Alchemist's Daughter: So if you have anymore songs send them now, and then Chapter 30 we will post our favourites, the ones we think work the best, in the Ultimate Playlist of Ultimate Destiny)**

_Breaking Benjamin - Diary of Jane (Bruce), I Will Not Bow (Dick)_

_My Chemical Romance - Demolition Lovers (Bruce/Batman) The Ghost of You (Dick)_

_Fall Out Boy - Bang the Doldrums (Dick/Richard)_

_Trading Yesterday- Under my skin (Bruce/Dick), One day(Richard/Dick), For you only(Richard/Dick)_

_The Age of Information - Knowledge (Bruce)_

_The Police - Every breath you take (Bruce/Dick)_

_Matchbox Twenty - Unwell (Dick)_

_The Rescuers - Break Me Out (Richard/Dick)_

_Passenger - Night Vision Binoculars/Walk You Home (Richard/Dick)_

_Framing Hanley- Built for Sin (Dick)_

_Fireflight - Stand Up (Dick)_

_Snow Patrol - All That I Have (Bruce)_

_Florence + The Machine - Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) (Dick)_

_Emily Browning - Sweet Dreams (that's the song I listened to for the most of this chapter)_

_The Fray - Over My Head_

_The Dresden Dolls - Half Jack _

_A Perfect Circle - Choke (Dick), Counting Bodies Like Sheep (...) (Bruce)_

_Papa Roach - Blood (Dick)_

_Bullet For My Valentine - Begging For Mercy (Bruce)_

_All American Rejects - I Wanna Touch You (Richard)_

_Dirty Martini - Waiting For Magic_

_Emmy Rossum - Don't Stop Now_

_Sleepthief - Labyrinthine Heart_

_The Birthday Massacre - In The Dark_

_Nelly Furtado - Try_


	29. The Boys Share

Chapter 29

Surrounded by the eager chattering of his fellow students, Dick walked down the hotel corridor looking for his room. He noticed that the whole building smelt of the beach, but not like it came from old water in the various tanks and fountains like he would have expected, rather it smelt so real that Dick half-expected to be able to hear seagulls. It couldn't just be air-freshener, so Dick wondered how much effort had gone into achieving this effect. Did they put salt in the air-conditioning vents or something?

The corner room with the gold key card was the very last one on the corridor. Dick dreaded what he would find. Would his room have its own fountain? Gilded wallpaper? With Bruce, you never knew. The billionaire was behind his room assignment, Dick had understood that much, but had he done it to show off, or to control him? Was Dick about to walk into luxury, or a replica of Wayne Manor with cameras and bugs beneath the polish?

He pulled the key card out of his pocket, where he had kept it hidden from the other boys. Josh had seen it, so it probably wouldn't be long before he complained about it to his gang, and it would spread from there, but for now, Dick could pretend the boys around him weren't already gossiping behind his back.

He examined the card and the small machine above the gold door handle. He'd never stayed in a hotel before, but he thought he could figure it out. It looked easy enough; card goes in machine, door opens. He tried it. Nothing happened.

Dick tried to glance subtly behind him to see what the other boys were doing. Okay, so the card had to come out after going in. Dick could do that. Card in, card out. Still nothing. That little red light didn't change.

Most of the boys had gone into their rooms already, but there was still enough people in the hall for it to be embarrassing if Dick couldn't manage this. Should he try to watch somebody else again? That would be a bit obvious after the first time. Maybe he could ask someone? _Hey, how do you do this again?_ Cool and casual, no big deal. No, Dick would never be able to pull that off. Cool and casual were not words that Dick associated with himself. He wished Richard were here; he would probably be able to get the door open, and if he couldn't, then he could ask someone without thinking anything of it.

Dick tried it again. Card in, card out, door handle, but he still couldn't get in. It was as if the door knew he didn't belong in such a fancy hotel and had made the executive decision to keep him out, never mind if the room had been paid for by Bruce Wayne. Dick exhaled heavily through his nose. How long was this going to take him?

A thin shadow appeared beside him. "Um, do you, would you like a hand?"

Dick jumped, then he recognised the boy from the bus. "You know how to do it?" he asked, handing his card to the boy and stepping aside for him.

"Yeah, my family travels a lot. You have to push the handle down before you pull the card out, but you have to be quick," the boy replied, demonstrating what looked like a complicated manoeuvre that required more coordination than Dick thought he had. The door unlocked with a green light and a little beep, and the guy held it open a few inches for Dick, who took the handle. He held the card out for Dick, not seeming to notice its gold colour. "It's pretty stupid," he said, probably to make Dick feel better.

"Yeah, thanks," Dick said, a bit too wary to be genuinely grateful. This boy being friendly for no obvious reason... it made him suspicious.

The stranger looked fixedly at Dick for a moment, jerking slightly on the spot as he nervously bent and straightened his knee. He had to be at least two years above Dick, but his thin lanky frame gave him a very small presence, and the way he hunched over as if to hear what the people below him were saying made Dick feel cornered and uncomfortable. Dick didn't know what he was waiting for.

"You, er... You don't remember me, do you?"

"We have Advanced English together," Dick nodded, trying to pretend he had remembered the boy's name from class.

"No, but, I mean... my name?"

Dick quickly tied to come up with something that would rescue him from revealing he didn't know it, when the boy answered anyway, apparently expecting to have been forgotten.

"It's Andrew," he continued, and he held out his hand for Dick to shake with a kind of grim determination and fixed stare that suggested he would have done the same thing if Dick was his mortal enemy. This boy was an expert victim. Dick took his hand anyway, and it was clammy and weak. It felt like if Dick gripped hard enough he could really hurt him, and it made Dick feel kind of guilty, even though he hadn't done anything. Andrew was so curled in on himself, his shoulders curving around his lowered head as if to shield it from incoming attacks, that even standing so close together, Dick still felt like the bigger and the stronger of the two.

Andrew smiled wanly. "It's okay, I don't really expect people to remember me. I just came to the school this year," he said, making Dick feel even worse.

"Er, thanks for your help with the door. I'll try to remember that trick with the handle," was the best reply he could come up with..

"No problem. I guess you want to go explore your room. I'm in 619, if you need any more help..." He looked like he wanted Dick to stay, but he obligingly edged off down the hall when Dick made motions to go inside.

Damn, what was it about that boy that made Dick feel guilty all the time? He wasn't his responsibility. If he wanted more friends, he should try being a little cheerier.

Inside the room, it wasn't quite as bad as Dick had expected. It was still massive, with a 180 degree view of the city and a bubbling, wall-sized fish tank full of exotic fish and plants and colourful stones. The bed was in the centre of the room and was big enough to comfortably sleep three adults. He was going to feel tiny in it later when he tried to sleep in it. Dick saw his suitcase standing by the bed, brought up by the porters no doubt, but decided to leave it for now, choosing instead to check out the bathroom. There was a sunken tub big enough for four and two sinks with silver taps. Dick looked closer; they were shaped like killer whales. In here, almost every surface was mirrored, and the floor was polished so much it too reflected the dark shadows of everything above it.

Dick walked out and stood by the windows, looking out at the city. The sun was setting, and everything was being hit by a dark gold light. Dick could tell the view would be even more beautiful at night, when the city would turn its lights on and become a swamp of stars stuck to the earth. He watched the cars easing through the roads. Some of the buildings around him had flowers on little roofs and in window boxes. New Carthage looked like a nice place, but that might just be in comparison to Gotham.

The boy noticed a remote on the night stand and went over to look at it. He couldn't see a TV in the room, so he decided not to press anything. It might have just been for the lights or air conditioning, but he didn't want to accidentally electrocute the fish or something.

He checked his watch, he still had half an hour before he had to be downstairs for dinner. He didn't know what to do with himself. His time alone in the room was going to be pretty dull, he predicted, though when he thought about Richard sharing a room with Mr Luca, he decided some people had it worse.

Dick turned to face the room behind him. It seemed so big, and so empty and quiet. It had a sterile, pre-packaged look that ruined its luxury. Everything was state of the art, inviting and divinely comfortable, but that didn't remove the fact that you weren't expected to stay there. It wasn't homey. Dick felt afraid to touch anything.

It had taken him months to get used to Wayne Manor, and he realised that this room wasn't so different. Luxurious, but cold. _Oh well,_ Dick thought to himself, _At least I don't have to worry about being spied on here_. But he would check just in case. Bruce might own the hotel, might have specified to which kind of room his ward was to be assigned, but would he really have gone to the lengths to have a _public_ room in _another city_ bugged? Dick didn't think the hotel would appreciate that, and when would Bruce have ordered it? The billionaire hadn't appeared to even know when the trip was until a few days before, though that could have been an act.

As he thought about it, Dick walked around the room, checking the lamps, the bed frame, the cupboards, anywhere with a view good enough where a camera could hide.

Continuing his train of thought, he argued that the cameras, if there were any, couldn't possibly be _wired_ to Wayne Manor, so they would have to broadcast their images through radio waves, which would mean that Bruce would have to be in New Carthage to be in range to receive the feed. The boy remembered his scare earlier in the lobby and paused.

While none of this was impossible, it wasn't very likely. Bruce _could_ have sent someone to bug the room without telling the hotel, and he _could_ be hiding in New Carthage somewhere. But would he? Could he have dictated _exactly which room_ his ward was to stay in, and then organised for some shady minion to stay in that same room and plant cameras? It seemed unlikely. And would he really take four days off work to camp out with a computer somewhere nearby just to watch Dick? The boy wasn't even going to be in the room that much as he would be out with the class during the day. If Bruce was worried about what Dick would get up to on his trip, he could have just forbid the boy from going, but he hadn't.

Dick finished his sweep of the bedroom and the en suite. He didn't find anything, and he had checked every light fitting, every air vent and every other nook and cranny. It seemed he was safe. He exhaled carefully; he didn't quite believe it.

He checked his watch again. There was still fifteen minutes till dinner, but he figured he could leave in five. It might take him a while to navigate the large hotel, and even if he was early, he predicted that the teachers at least would be there. He went to the bathroom and checked his reflection. There wasn't really much to do, but he straightened his clothes, washed his hands and tweaked the spikes in his hair.

Back in the bedroom, he moved his wallet and phone to his pockets. He didn't expect to have to pay for his dinner but it was better to be safe than sorry, and he had been ordered by Alfred to keep his phone with him and switched on at all times. He also made sure he had the gold key card, then left the room. Out in the corridor, he could hear the excited voices of the other students gushing about the rooms to their roommates behind the closed doors. He walked quickly and quietly between them, hoping no one would come out and see him alone.

There were arrows directing guests to various room numbers, and Dick could only navigate the labyrinth of halls by reverse engineering the directions and always heading for the smallest numbers. Nothing looked familiar and he realised how easily he could get totally lost if he wasn't careful. When he found the elevator bank and pressed the Down button, he wondered self-consciously what kind of guests he would see. He probably stood out, he couldn't imagine many people his age stayed here, or if they did they wouldn't be unaccompanied. He expected to see men in expensive suits and women in designer dresses, who would be disappointed that they were staying in the same hotel as him if they saw him.

But when the elevator came, it was empty. Dick had to scan his key card before pressing the button to get it to move, and the ride seemed very long. He tried to ignore the mirrors around him, and instead just listened to the faint clunking of the machinery. When he emerged into the lobby, he couldn't get his bearings. He found a row of shops with impressive diamond displays in the windows as well as crystal souvenirs and evening wear. Checking his watch, he saw that it was already 6:33, so he wouldn't be unfashionably early after all. That was good, but he made a mental note to allow extra time in the future.

He eventually found a signpost that pointed to a Starlight Restaurant, a Triton Bistro, and an Atlantis cafe. Dick didn't know which one he wanted, but the Starlight was upstairs, while the other two were both in the same direction, so he figured they were the most likely. He turned a corner and found himself in a sort of high-end food court, with the hotel's cafes as well as a chain coffee shop. The Triton was on one side with the Atlantis on the other, and between the two in the middle of the area ran an artificial river with a small scenic bridge that came out of the far wall and disappeared under the floor to his right.

He was relieved to see the small group of teachers standing awkwardly outside the Triton, and he headed over. Richard was with them, and he gave Dick a small smile.

"Ah, Richard," Mr Luca welcomed Dick, calling him 'Richard' like most of the teachers did. When Dick had first arrived at the school, everyone called him that because he hadn't dared to correct them. Now, however, they called him that out of respect for Bruce and his money; they didn't want to appear over-familiar with the Wayne foundling so it was either 'Richard' or worse, 'Mr Grayson'. "Dinner is in here tonight. How do you like your room? Settling in?"

Dick wondered what he could possibly have to complain about in a hotel like Aquaz, but he understood that what they were really asking was if they were safe with Bruce.

"Yeah, it's great," he replied, hoping to reassure them if only so that he didn't have to smell their fear for the next four days.

"Good, good. I'm quite intimidated myself," admitted the teacher with an honest laugh, and Dick remembered why he liked him. Mr Luca had always seemed more down to earth than the other teachers, as if he didn't share in the atmosphere of power and privilege of the Allen Bex academy. Then the man's tone became serious. "Maybe after you eat you could wait a moment before returning to your room? There's something we would like to ask you."

Dick felt a surge of paranoia. What could they possibly want to ask him about?

"Er... Okay..." Dick answered, trying to keep his apprehension from being obvious.

"It's okay, Mr L," Richard suddenly interjected, stepping forward and putting his arm around Dick's shoulders. "I can just ask him now myself. I'm sure he's hungry, right?" The blonde looked down at Dick expectantly, who agreed out of confusion and a desire to get away. Richard was offering him an escape to the dining room.

"Well, okay then," Mr Luca agreed, appearing relieved to have someone take the responsibility off him, and not wanting to be seen starving Bruce Wayne's pet.

"Great. We'll go find a table then," Richard said and steered Dick away and into the restaurant.

"Ask me what?" Dick asked as soon as they were out of ear-shot.

Richard didn't answer, instead heading towards a small table for two marked by a _Reserved_ card with the Academy's name on it. Dick obligingly sat opposite him. Half the restaurant seemed to be reserved for Academy students, and not many others had arrived yet. The room was dimly lit, with large glowing blue fish tanks placed against the walls and between the tables to create sections. The chairs were well cushioned and the table cloth in front of him was perfectly pearl white and starched stiff, and he had more cutlery than he knew what to do with. Alfred would have been proud.

"Ask me what?" Dick persisted once they were sitting down.

"Just a favour. It's okay to say no." Richard seemed strangely hesitant, looking away from Dick, and the boy wondered what could be scaring him.

"What is it?"

An immaculately-dressed waiter appeared and set a pitcher of ice water down between them. "Good evening, Sirs, welcome to the Triton bistro, you are with the Allen Bex Academy, I take it?" The man had a slight foreign accent, but there was something about it that Dick didn't quite buy. It was like the man was over-enunciating and altering his sentence structure slightly in order to seem exotic and professional, as if the restaurant was so classy it could afford to import its waiters, but it was all just part of the image and the man was really as American as hot dogs and not a career waiter. Dick had spent enough time with Alfred to be able to recognize a man who had trained many years to spend their lives serving others, and this guy was not one of them.

"Yes, we are," Richard answered for them both.

"Very good," the waiter whisked the Reserved card away. "Tonight's dinner will be carrot soup followed by salmon and bread pudding. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Richard looked at Dick.

"Er, I'm fine," the boy said. The water would be enough for him.

"I'll have a coffee," ordered Richard after him, and the waiter went away.

Dick looked at Richard expectantly, waiting to continue their conversation. "So what did you want to ask me?" he said.

"Well... It turns out that the teachers' rooms are on a different floor from the students,"

"So?" Dick couldn't see how that was related to him. He was still waiting for the twist that would bring an end to his hope for a happy escape from his life in Gotham.

"So that's not good. The group has to be supervised, to make sure you behave yourselves and to be able to help in an emergency. If we're all on another floor, we won't be able to help as quickly as we would if we were on your floor."

"Okay, so... Are they going to see if they can get another room on our floor?" Dick asked. So far, he understood what Richard was saying, but he couldn't see why the senior was telling him about it with such apprehension.

"No, they can't, it's not in the budget. So far, the best solution they've come up with is moving me to your floor, but unless someone does something seriously wrong in the next couple of hours that would warrant being moved in with the teachers in my place, there isn't a free spot for me anywhere..." At this, he glanced up at Dick from under his brow, and the boy finally got it.

"Except in my room," he responded.

Richard seemed to flinch. "I'm sorry, it's stupid I know. We messed up, you shouldn't have to pay for it. I know you asked Wayne for a room to yourself, and really-"

"I didn't ask him for it," Dick interjected, correcting the blonde before he could stop himself. He didn't want Richard to think that he was stuck up like that.

"Really? Then why did he...?"

Dick shrugged and looked down at his plate. "Because he can?" he offered. "Why would I want to be separated from everyone else?"

"Oh, I just thought... you know... since you don't really like..." Richard looked uncomfortable, and he took a big breath before continuing. "You're kind of a private kid, I get that, and I can't blame you from wanting to stay away from some of those guys, I know they give you trouble sometimes-"

"Richard, I didn't ask for my own room. Bruce did it on his own," Dick stopped him.

"Oh. Okay. That's kind of weird," Richard replied, obviously unsure of what his reaction should be.

_You wouldn't think that if you knew the real Bruce Wayne_, Dick thought to himself, but he just shrugged again in response to Richard's comment.

"So you wouldn't mind having me as a roommate then?" the blonde asked.

"No, of course not, it sounds like fun," Dick reassured him.

"You're sure? Because I'm sure if we searched people's rooms we'd be able to come up with _something_ to-"

"Richard, it's fine. I don't mind sharing a room with you," Dick insisted. Richard watched him for another moment as if trying to gage how honest his junior was being, then his face split into a beautiful smile.

"Okay, cool. I'll bring my stuff over after dinner then," he said, still grinning as if he couldn't quite stop himself.

"Oh, but," Dick suddenly remembered a potential problem. "There's only one bed."

"It's a double though, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then it should be fine. The beds in this place are massive," Richard replied as if he didn't see a problem.

Dick reluctantly let it go. He couldn't explain to Richard that he was uncomfortable sharing a bed without arousing the senior's suspicions again, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I'd better go tell the teachers that it's all sorted now," Richard excused himself and walked away to find them, leaving Dick alone at the table to think.

Compared to the boring emptiness of the room that he had felt earlier, having Richard's company would make the trip a lot more enjoyable, but the thought of sharing the bed set alarms ringing in Dick's head. But no, Richard wasn't like Bruce, Richard was normal, he was safe, they were friends. Dick had nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.

The waiter came with two shallow bowls of soup, and Dick waited until Richard came back to start, as Alfred had always insisted upon if he knew Bruce would be eating with him. The older boy pulled in his chair as he sat down, any trace of his earlier uncertainty apparently blown away by Dick's invitation to share the room. Now Richard was smiling energetically like usual, and for the second time that day Dick had the impression of sunlight, as if the blonde's tanned skin was radiating heat across the table.

Richard stirred the orange soup with his large silver spoon, and pulled a face. Dick paused in his eating.

"Is it nice?" Richard asked when he noticed Dick looking at him.

"It's okay," Dick replied, shrugging. "You don't like it?"

"I don't know, I guess I'm just not used to something this fancy," Richard said with a self-deprecating smile.

Dick looked down at the soup. It was similar to something Alfred would prepare for him, but he didn't say that. If this soup was too fancy for Richard, then Dick didn't want to associate himself with it.

Richard continued, "I mean, I just cook for myself at home, so stuff like this is pretty new to me."

Of course, Dick thought. Mrs Rawn wasn't exactly the domestic home-maker type, and they might not be able to afford a housekeeper or butler like Bruce. What he knew of Richard's father also suggested that he wouldn't care about the family home very much, which meant that the responsibility of keeping the house running would fall on Richard, the only son still living there. If his father was away at work or with a mistress, his mother was sleeping off a hangover upstairs, and his brother had escaped to college as Dick assumed, his home must be a pretty lonely place for Richard. It made Dick think of being invited there all the time in a new light.

"Still, food's food, right?" he finished, and took a spoonful of the soup without suffering. "I guess I just prefer stuff like we had the other day, you know, when we went outside school for lunch?"

"Yeah, I remember." Dick remembered the fiasco with the ridiculous credit card Bruce had given him, and the girl that went to talk Richard. Other than that, it was a good memory.

"Did you like that place? I forgot to ask at the time."

"Yeah, I liked it."

Richard looked at him in that annoyingly clairvoyant way. "Something wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You're being kind of monosyllabic. Did I say something?"

"No." Dick continued eating his soup.

Richard kept looking at him. "I'm sorry about that girl who came up to us, but there was nothing I could do. She just wanted to harass me about Alicia," he apologised.

Dick was a little freaked out. How did Richard always see through him like that? It made Dick feel vulnerable; what if Richard saw deep enough to discover the truth? Dick knew he already suspected something. It was getting dangerous, but still he didn't want to push his only friend away.

"It's okay, I wasn't thinking about that," Dick replied, looking around him. The restaurant was beginning to fill up as more of the Academy's students came in, so it was becoming noisier. Anything they said would be harder to overhear, but the tables around were being occupied, so Dick wasn't sure just how much of this conversation he wanted to have here. He knew he wasn't supposed to have left school grounds, but more than that, it felt private, like Richard was confiding something personal in him.

"I didn't mean to break her heart, Dick," Richard insisted earnestly. "I'm not that kind of asshole."

"I know that," Dick said, finishing his soup and looking around again at who might be listening. Richard seemed to notice his preoccupation, and looked around as well.

"Well, anyway, it's in the past. Should I ask the front desk for a key to your room, or are we just going to share yours?" he said, changing the subject to something safer and re-focusing on the dish in front of him.

Dick felt bad that his paranoia had pushed Richard away again, but it was probably for the best. And besides, they would have plenty of opportunities to talk later when they were alone.

OoO

After dinner, Richard collected his things from Mr Luca's room and moved to Dick's. He didn't say anything about the gold key card or about the extravagant room. The senior seemed to have understood that it was a sensitive topic for Dick, like so many things, and the list just kept getting longer.

Dick enjoyed watching Richard explore in much the same way he had earlier that evening. Dick knew the twenty, thirty minutes he had spent in the room didn't really make it _his_, but nonetheless he felt like he was _sharing_ with his friend. It felt different from when Richard visited him at Wayne Manor, when he had known nothing was private or safe. That time it had felt like they were both just mice in the same lab. Wayne Manor and everything surrounding it belonged solely to Bruce, it was nothing Dick could share with anybody, but here in New Carthage away from Bruce's gilded cage, even the air seemed clearer. Dick was happy to welcome Richard into his room.

It made him want to undo some of the damage he had done over dinner. He didn't want to spend the rest of the trip with Richard thinking he couldn't talk to him, and there was nothing dangerous about it as long as they didn't talk about how Bruce treated him or where his bruises came from. If Richard wanted to open up to him, then Dick had to admit, he was curious. He wanted to know more about the girl who, for a while at least, had been important to Richard. He wanted to know more about their relationship, and why they had broken up. If she had stepped on some sort of landmine with Richard, Dick wanted to know how to avoid it. More than that, he wanted to know more about his friend, become closer to him, and he couldn't have asked for a more perfect opportunity than sharing a room with the blonde for three nights.

So as he stood awkwardly in the empty space in front of the windows watching Richard unpack, he said "So, er, you were telling me what happened with your ex?"

Richard paused over his suitcase and his blue eyes flicked up to consider Dick. He must have seen how uncomfortable Dick was, not having much social experience of this kind of thing, because he started moving again and said "It's okay, I don't have to bore you with that."

"But if you want to talk about it-"

Richard laughed. "Relax, it's not like I 'want to talk about it', I just thought it came up. It was months ago anyway, I'm over it. Or are we really going to stand here and talk about our _feelings_?"

Dick almost blushed at Richard's teasing. Okay, so maybe that had come out a little girly, but he was trying, and now he didn't really know what else to talk about.

Richard seemed to notice his uncertain pause, because he added "But if there's anything you want to know, I don't mind telling you."

Dick drew a blank. He didn't know how to phrase his question so that it didn't sound too nosey or personal, but he wanted to get the senior talking.

"Er, well... How did you break up?"

"She just liked me more than I liked her, you know? She wanted to go further, but I didn't feel right about it, so we broke up. I can't really say it was a mutual thing but..." He shrugged in a helpless sort of way, and Dick didn't think he was being callous.

"What do you mean 'go further'?" Dick asked without thinking.

"You know, - Wait. How old are you again?" Richard asked, standing up straight and looking at Dick.

"Fourteen," Dick replied defensively. "Why?"

"Man... I always forget that 'cause you're in so many advanced classes and extra-curriculars and stuff. Fourteen. Ew," Richard teased with a lop-sided smile.

"Hey!" Dick responded.

"I remember when I was fourteen _so long ago_," Richard continued.

Dick grabbed a cushion from the chair by the window and hurled it across the room at his friend, who dodged it easily.

"Ooh, careful! Bruce Wayne owns this hotel, you know," replied Richard with a wink, and threw the cushion back to Dick from his chest like a basketball.

With that reminder and the challenge that came with it, Dick didn't hesitate in catching the cushion and tossing it carelessly back, almost hoping to break something this time. When Richard threw it back the second time, Dick ran to the other chair and grabbed the cushion off that one as well.

"Really, Dick! So immature!" Richard laughed as he dodged the cushion.

Dick lunged forward and somersaulted across the bed, forcing Richard to escape to the foot of the bed before the younger boy landed on top of him. When Dick was on his feet, he seized the large pillow from the top of the bed and held it in front of him like a sword.

Richard feigned a gasp. "Careful, circus boy, I have an older brother, I know how to win a pillow fight," he threatened.

Dick made a show of considering it, then swung the heavy pillow onto Richard's upheld arm as the older boy ran to grab his own pillow off the bed. He threw it behind him at where he estimated Dick would be, but the teen ducked and the fluffy white missile went sailing through the air until it hit the fish tank. Both boys froze in terror as the water sloshed inside, waiting for the glass to crack or the tank to tip over and the tsunami to come roaring towards them. Then the tank seemed to split down the middle, the two halves gliding away from each as a flat screen television appeared between them.

There was a stunned silence, and then Dick spoke. "So that's where the TV is."

The two boys looked at each other - Dick crouched at the end of the bed, his top half almost lying on it with the pillow between his outstretched arms, Richard kneeling at the top of the bed, twisting to look over his shoulder. Then they both broke out in laughter at their matching terrified expressions. Richard whisked Dick's pillow away from him and clobbered him across the shoulders with it, flattening him against the bed with an "Oof!"

The senior climbed off the bed and retrieved the other pillow and tossed it back to Dick, the fight over.

"Let's not tell anyone about what just happened, agreed?" he said.

"Agreed."

"I'm supposed to be the _mature_ one on this trip after all, though clearly being surrounded by _children_ is bringing out the worst in me."

Dick scowled at Richard, making him laugh.

"I'm going to take a shower. Try not to wreck the place while I'm gone," Richard said, ruffling what little there was of Dick's hair as he passed, making the younger boy pull away and try to readjust the spikes. "Oh, and as for Alicia and me, that's big boy stuff. We wouldn't want to dirty your innocent mind, now would we?" Richard gave him another wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

The comment startled Dick and sent a needle of fear flying through him. _Why would he say that? What does he know?_ But then he figured it out. He had asked Richard what he meant when he had said his ex had wanted to 'go further', and now the senior was saying he was too young to know. The assumption was that because he was young he was also innocent, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He understood now that this Alicia had wanted to have sex with Richard and that was why they'd broken up. Of course 'go further' meant sex, that was what _normal_ people like Richard did in their _normal_ relationships. Dick felt embarrassed at himself for asking.

He stood up and began tidying up the pillows and cushions. So Richard thought he was clueless about sex. God, how he wished he was.

If only.

**TheAlchemist's Daughter:** Hey, guys! Aren't Richard and Dick _cute_? We'll hit 400 reviews with this chapter! Thanks for all your support Here's the last playlist before the Ultimate Playlist that we will compose for the next chapter, so please don't send anymore songs.

Lady Gaga – Judas (Inner Bruce)  
Emilie Autumn – Misery Loves Company, Opheliac  
Seether – Country Song (Bruce/Dick)  
Song Ji Eun – Going Crazy (Bruce/Dick)  
Skillet – Comatose (Dick)  
Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Pen and Paper (Bruce/Dick)  
Snow Patrol – Chasing Cars (Richard/Dick)  
Arctic Monkeys – Crying Lightning (Bruce)  
Little Red – Rock It (Richard/Dick)  
Kylie Minogue – Confide in Me (Richard/Dick)

Okay, now that's done, I'd like to say that we got an _amazing_ response to AmberSpirit's request for Damian/Dick fics, way more than I expected. She went crazy for them, and linked them to me when I asked. We appreciate it. There's also some more coming, I think? Don't give up! AmberSpirit lives and breathes these things, really she does. And in one review, I believe we got the offer of a future music video using Young Justice footage, hmmm? Who thinks that would be GREAT? I do! Anyway here are the fics we got in response t her desperate plea here (she got others from whoring herself elsewhere but I don't know what they are). I don't know if the links will work so there's some other information to help you find them. They're all on

Just A Little Unwell, by RaitoFlavoredWaffles  
.net/s/6907143/1/

Damian's Happy Meal, by MEEPheheCandy  
.net/s/6920891/1/Damians_Happy_Meal

Bat and the Bird, by Yuuri-nyan  
.net/s/6933604/1/Bat_and_Bird


	30. The Sleepless Boy

**AN**_: Late update. I KNOW. I'm sorry. Stop being babies about it. By now you should know that this story is NOT getting abandoned so DON'T WORRY._

**Chapter 30****: The sleepless boy**

His first night at the hotel was very different from what he imagined.

In between light teasing and a friendly conversation, Dick couldn't help but furiously think about how to make their sleeping arrangement less awkward without looking like an oversensitive idiot.

He always considered himself a person who was very touchy-feely and open with his affection; after all he spent his whole life living in close quarters with his parents and surrounded by people every day but ever since he came to live with Bruce this love for human contact was beaten out of him like barking beaten out of a disobedient dog.

He no longer liked being touched or touching others, in fact he realized that he grew to despise and fear human contact and learned to avoid it in everyday situations. That's why sharing the same bed with another person (and it didn't matter how many times he told himself that he was safe, this was Richard, his friend, his only friend) made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable; he knew that he would have trouble sharing the bed and his tired eyes were begging him for sleep, reminding him that he had no rest the previous night.

In contrast to this Richard was full of smiles and energy; the topic of their sleeping arrangements never came up and it seemed that the boy had no problem with it whatsoever which left Dick with a feeling that he was over thinking this whole matter. There was a couch in the room and he knew he would prefer to leave the bed to his friend but whenever he tried to casually bring it up he got tongue tied and didn't know what to say- was there really a way to say this without offending Richard or sounding weird?

By the time he actually came up with a starting sentence it was far too late; both boys were sleepy and Richard had taken off his shirt, obviously intending to sleep in his underwear which made Dick tense up. The boy's bare chest reminded him of Bruce's scarred skin and he excused himself to the bathroom, hoping that if he brushed his teeth long enough, Richard would be asleep by the time he got out.

He stared at the mirror and his reflection stared back, tired and shirtless. Even brushing his teeth seemed to be a difficult chore in this state and he mechanically moved the toothbrush from side to side with stiff movements. The bite on his shoulder stood out against the paleness of his body; Bruce's mark visible and looking much more painful than it actually felt.

A "hickey" wasn't really the proper word to describe it; this wasn't a lover's nip or a playful love mark, not this was a bite as if he was attacked by a large animal and bled. His fingers brushed over the sensitive area, brushing over the red teeth marks that looked like they didn't belong to a human and he winced as he realized it was still too fresh to touch openly like this. He rinsed his mouth and spat the toothpaste out, leaning over the sink with a tired face. The pyjama shirt covered the bite completely and for that he was grateful; he walked over to the door, contemplating whether he could get away with taking a shower this late. He decided against it; he knew he would need one tomorrow after an undoubtedly sleepless night and he didn't want to look like a clean freak.

When he walked back into the room, the light was turned off.

"Breakfast is at nine so I'm setting the alarm clock for eight thirty, ok?" Richard's quiet voice came from the darkness and Dick could see his friend leaning from the large bed, the mobile phone screen illuminating his face in an eerie, blue light.

"Yeah, that's fine," Dick responded unsurely. He wasn't really paying attention to Richard's words, instead wondering if it would be considered too odd if he moved to the lower part of the bed by the boy's feet, instead of his face. After a moment of hesitance he decided he wouldn't risk it and settled by Richard's side, painfully aware of the boy's proximity. He nearly jumped when he felt a bare arm touch his elbow as Richard covered him with a half of the blanket. Dick realized with horror they were supposed to be sharing it.

"Good night," Richard said quietly and his voice sounded intimate in the silence of the room. Dick could feel him move to the other side of the bed and followed his example, shifting as far as the blanket let him.

"Goodnight," Dick whispered back.

And that's how their night began.

Dick didn't know how long he had been awake, it could have been 20 minutes, perhaps even a whole hour but it felt like eternity. He was tense and achingly aware of the other boy's presence; with each shift Richard made he found himself alert and ready to jump out of the bed at any moment. It was ridiculous, he was safe, but no matter how exhausted he felt he could never force himself to do anything more than close his eyes and pray that sleep would take him. He hoped that eventually his body would give in.

"Can't sleep?" Richard's words came from the other side of the bed, sounding like a statement instead of a question. Dick opened his eyes abruptly, not being able to see anything in the darkness of the room only the faintly glowing fish tanks next to the bathroom door. He lowered his eyes.

"Yeah," he responded. He wanted to add he wasn't used to sleeping in the same bed with somebody else but decided against it. There was a brief silence and he could hear Richard shift slightly next him, it sounded like he put his hands behind his head.

"Do you remember that day in Debate class…" he said and Dick's eyes started to adjust to the darkness of the hotel room, recognizing shapes and shadows of the expensive furniture, a lamp here, a table there... "When you were talking about Batman?"

Dick frowned and turned to face his bed partner. Richard's face was hidden in the shadows of the nearby fish tank, creating a strange, almost eerie contrast. "Yes, I remember," Dick said, his voice seemingly unable to go above a certain volume.

"You said that Batman never kills criminals, only ties them up and leaves them for the police."

"That's right. Batman doesn't kill." After a brief pause he asked "What brought this on?"

"I don't know…just something I was thinking about. How do you know that Batman doesn't kill?"

"What do you mean?" Dick asked although deep inside he knew exactly what his friend was talking about.

"Well, how do you know that he leaves all the criminals for the police? He could be tying up most of them but nobody can really tell how many. He could have killed countless of others and it could have been explained by a gang war or simply not explained at all; nobody keeps a check on the poorer parts of Gotham, many of the people there aren't even registered with the government. No one would know."

Dick blinked as the words echoed in his head and a strange sort of anger suddenly overtook him, subtle and yet alarmingly powerful.

"You mean that Batman is killing criminals? Officer Gordon himself said that it's against Batman's code-"

"-Yes but can we really prove it? All we can do is blindly trust him and to be honest with that kind of power it has to be really frustrating not to take it one step further especially when it comes to Joker and other terrible people like that. Joker killed all those people in that bombing of the police station-"

"Eight people. Seven died at the scene and one later in the hospital," Dick added with a soft voice, the anger suddenly gone. He remembered Bruce's bandaged chest and something similar to sympathy clawed at his chest; he forced himself not to think of it.

"Surely if Batman was killing, Joker would be the first one to go," Dick objected after a while. There was a brief silence during which he thought he won the argument but Richard shifted again, his figure now half lying, half sitting and responded

"But Joker is famous, a celebrity almost. If he died everyone would know about it and all the fingers would automatically point at Batman. Killing an unknown criminal however would be far easier."

"So you're saying Batman is a killer?" Dick asked, angry and yet at the same time conflicted. Batman was a symbol of justice and power and logically killing anybody even criminals was an unacceptable notion. And yet when he tried to imagine Batman killing Joker all he felt was a numb sort of satisfaction, a tired exhale of breath, a '_finally'_…

"Potentially yes. However the real question here is _should_ he be able to?"

"Well, that deals with the morals of killing, capital punishment..." Dick said and watched as Richard slowly sank into the bed again, turning his head to face him across the bed. They were now closer than before and he could see the blue of Richard's eyes even in the darkness of the room.

"No, it's different from capital punishment because it's Batman that makes the decision. Should he be able to do it? Even with somebody like Joker…"

"He can't, the police won't trust him, the whole of Gotham-"

"-But we're not talking about the consequences of it or the reaction of the public. We're talking about the decision itself. Are there people that deserve to be killed?"

'_Yes_' Dick's mind responded immediately, so full of hate that he was practically choking with it '**Bruce**_ deserves to die'_. But he knew what the right answer was and how his parents would have wanted him to respond.

"Killing is never right, no matter the circumstances."

He could see Richard nod in the dark, not in the way that said he agreed but instead to show that he understood and expected Dick's answer. Then there was silence and Dick waited for his friend to continue.

However Richard rolled over to the other side instead.

"Man, it's way too late to be practicing for Debate," he said with a cheerful tone that was different from his previous thoughtful voice. Dick wanted to know more, it sounded like Richard didn't agree with him and to be honest he wasn't really sure he agreed with what he said either. He was about to continue the conversation but suddenly as if somebody pressed a single switch inside of him, his whole body started to weight him down, his head, his arms, his legs until his eyelids slid shut and all he could do was murmur a tired "Night" before he finally fell asleep.

000 0 000

When he woke up he was uncomfortably warm and there was something holding him down, forcing his face into the pillow. After a brief moment of confusion he realized that the warm thing was a hand thrown across his neck and he immediately understood the situation and his heart froze in fear.

Richard…was…

…wait was he asleep?

Forcing himself to calm down Dick overcame his panic and continued lying very still, listening to the other boy's breathing. It seemed steady and deep and Dick assumed his friend was asleep; this made the whole situation even more awkward. It felt wrong and uncomfortable to be touched by somebody while he was asleep like this and the thought depressed him and made him realize just how different he was from the boy that was living in the circus with his parents, hugging the performers and playing with the animals. He was usually fine with Richard casually touching his shoulder or hands; if he expected it and mentally prepared himself he even welcomed it. But Richard's body so close to his own in the darkness of the room was not only uncomfortable but downright repulsive and Dick grimaced into the pillow, gently moving away from the boy, trying to be as quiet and slow as possible as not to wake his sleeping friend.

After a few minutes he was finally free and Richard's breathing didn't change, staying deep and regular throughout the whole process. Revelling in the coldness of the bed sheets, Dick curled up near the edge of the bed and not bothering with the blanket, simply fell asleep again.

00

0000

He woke up again some time later; he didn't know the exact time but the hotel room was still dark and there were no sounds of traffic from outside the window. The uncomfortable warmth next to him was back and twice as intense as the first time. Richard was lightly snoring and both his leg and arm were thrown over him, the blonde literally taking as much space as was physically possible. Dick frowned at the contact and immediately started to move away. Since he was on the complete edge of the large bed he had no other direction to go in than down and so he slowly started to shift away from Richard's grasp until he was curled up by the boy's naked feet. He was cold but couldn't locate the blanket and after a while it didn't really seem to matter. Richard lay unmoving above him. Dick closed his eyes and slept.

000

There was a sound of camera clicking and Dick opened his eyes, blinking at the harsh light coming from the windows. It was morning and the sound of photos being taken made him feel disoriented and confused. His first thought was that somebody was taking pictures of him but the sound came from too far and when he looked around he didn't see Richard anywhere on the bed.

'CLICK' 'CLICK'

He was curled up on the complete edge of the bed, covered with a blanket that he didn't remember being there last night. His head was buzzing with a headache and his eyes felt aching and tired on his face, as if he didn't have any sleep at all. When he rolled over he saw his friend standing by the window, squinting into a professional-looking camera.

"Richard?"

The boy was already dressed in the torn jeans from yesterday and a simple red t-shirt that was stretched over his back, showing a bit of his skin as he leaned forward. The sun was almost blinding in his blond hair and Dick had to blink a few times, looking away from the bright sight. Richard didn't seem to hear him and instead continued to snap pictures of something outside the window.

"Richard!"

The blonde turned, surprised.

"Hey there sleepyhead."

"_Now get up and start stretching, sleepyhead."_

Dick turned away, forcing himself not to think of his father's voice and the way he used to ruffle his hair in the mornings. He didn't know why he thought of it now.

"You could probably get better pictures if you opened the windows…" Dick said and immediately grimaced at the sound of his voice, scratchy from sleep. He coughed a few times to get rid of the strange sensation.

Richard pulled a face and shook his head, glancing back at the window frame. "Nah, you can't open hotel windows in case people fall or jump out or throw things... Aquaz would be liable for a lot of money if someone got hurt. It sucks though, it's not like expert gymnasts such as we are going to fall," he said, giving a crooked smile.

The younger boy untangled himself from the bed and went to look. "How far is it anyway?"

Richard shrugged. "A hundred feet? Two hundred?"

Dick peered down at the street below and the miniscule dots of life moving along down there. "Oh, so... not that far then."

"Maybe not for some people," Richard teased, but the truth was that Dick really wasn't scared by the height. In fact, he'd missed it.

"This room has the best view ever." Richard looked down at his camera with a satisfied smile and looped the strap around his neck.

"You like to take pictures?" Dick asked and immediately regretted asking it, wishing he had phrased it better. _'Do you like photography?' 'Are you interested in photography?'_

"This thing? Nah," Richard pointed at the camera and then shook his head, walking over to one of the fish tanks, lightly touching the glass by the tip of his fingers.

"Photography was one of my mum's passing fancies and she bought this a few years back, although never properly used it. To be quite honest I have no idea about all the settings it has but I figured it would be a shame not to bring it here."

At Dick's uncertain expression he grinned and brought the camera back to his hands.

"What do you think? Do I have what it takes to be a photographer? Come on, do a pose!"

"What?"

"Come on circus boy, you're my model, my muse, whatever they call it – look mysterious and manly!"

Mysterious and manly were definitely things that Dick didn't feel like at the moment (if he ever did) and he collapsed back onto the bed, wishing he didn't feel quite so tired. He heard Richard laugh from the other side of the room and suddenly realised what he might look like, sprawled on the bed. He sat up quickly.

"I wasn't posing!" he clarified hastily.

"Surrre you weren't, Grayson," Richard replied, his voice bright and cheerful, making Dick feel much more awake. He briefly wondered what time it was.

"Was I terrible last night?" Richard asked after a pause and then immediately added "Actually that sounded wrong so let me rephrase that: did I kick you in my sleep?"

Dick rubbed at his eyes, glad that the boy brought it up himself.

"You were kind of hogging the whole bed…"

"Ah man, I'm sorry. I figured something like that must have happened when I saw you curled up down there this morning. I'm just not used to sharing a bed with somebody else."

"You also snore," Dick added although it really wasn't that bad. He hardly heard it.

"Yes yes, terrible husband material I get it- if I do it again tonight just slap me awake. Like literally, start slapping my face until I stop."

"That's ridiculous, I could never do that" Dick argued and sat up again, blinking at the large clock on the wall opposite the bed.

"Eight o' clock? Wasn't the alarm at eight thirty?"

"Woke up earlier I guess," Richard replied and turned on the TV, mindlessly flipping through the channels, occasionally stopping at a cooking show or some sport event. The volume was really low and Dick wondered if he could hear anything at all.

"Well I'm gonna go and take a shower," Dick murmured, more to himself and was surprised when Richard answered "Knock yourself out."

It was so strange to wake up and having another person in the room already, Dick thought as he walked over to the bathroom, grabbing a random combination of clothes in the process. The last night was quite terrible but this was…nice.

He closed the door and after a moment's hesitation decided to lock it. Old habits die hard.

The bite looked much better than it did last night and Dick inspected it under the bathroom light, frowning at his reflection. His hair was sticking out in odd angles and the bags under his eyes were even more prominent than the day before; he hoped that after a hot shower he would look less like a zombie and more like an excited schoolboy. Dick took off his pyjamas and climbed into the shower.

He wondered what Bruce was doing right now…he was probably just finishing his breakfast, the strong, black coffee he always drank whenever he joined him in the Breakfast room. Or perhaps he was sleeping in although he stopped doing that a few months ago…Bruce always looked so tired, even more tired than Dick felt and it seemed like he never slept, staying up all night like some kind of a nocturnal creature, doing God knows what...

…wait, what was he doing thinking about Bruce? These were the precious moments that he could forget all about him and the terrors of the Wayne Manor.

If only it was that easy, like flipping a switch…

Being naked like this suddenly made him remember the way Bruce undressed him just the night before in the Forbidden room and of course that inevitably led to that disgusting…_kiss_. Urgh. He felt sick just thinking about it; shivers of repulsion going up and down his spine and he started rubbing his shoulders, his neck and his face while standing under the current of hot water, hoping that it would wash away the terrible sensation.

Disgusting!

When he finally stepped out he felt infinitely better, cleaner and much more awake. He put on a white t-shirt and a new looking pair of jeans that he didn't even notice he packed. Alfred must have added those in when Dick was…not in the room. He critically eyed his hair but realized he had forgotten to pack any styling gel on the trip with him. Left on its own the hair didn't look as bad as he feared but he would have still preferred it to be up in spikes. He wondered how long it would take until it grows out.

"Hey you done?" came a knock on the door and Dick jumped at the sudden noise. "We have to go soon!"

"Coming!"

With one last look to make sure the bite was safely hidden under the t-shirt, Dick grabbed his things and walked out, for the first time in months, looking forward to the day ahead of him.

**The Alchemist's Daughter:**Yeah so I guess I should apologise for the late update too. If it happens again, just have a little faith. This fic is going to be finished, there's no doubt about that. Also, the Ultimate Playlist will be coming next chapter since we wanted to get this to you asap, and I imagine you're glad we did. We've also received another Damian/Dick fic, by Pocky of NyaNyaLand called Goodness Has Nothing To Do With It, viewable here: .net/s/7039922/1/ Thanks


	31. A Boy's Justice

**Author's Note:** Hey, TheAlchemist'sDaughter here. I know this chapter took a while, but my laptop broke. It annoyed me as much as it annoyed you, trust me. We've also decided that this trip is taking too long, and moving too slowly, so we're cramming a lot more into one chapter. Instead of showing something happen, we'll have the characters talking about it or show it in a brief flashback. If anyone has a problem with this new style, I'd be interested to hear about it in a review And for those of you who have been waiting, there's a lot more to do with Bruce in this chapter. No direct contact of course, but he has his moments. We're also about two chapters away from 500 reviews, which we're very happy about. Thanks for being so enthusiastic, guys

Also, the boys are going to see a play – that's the academic reason behind this trip after all. Previously, I said the plays they were going to see were _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_, to deal with murder. But now it's going to be _Hamlet_ and _The Merchant of Venice_, to deal with revenge, which works much better I think. In this chapter, it's _The Merchant of Venice_. For those of you who don't know, here is as much of the story as you need to know to understand the chapter.

Bassanio needs money to court a rich woman, so his merchant friend Antonio takes out a big loan with Shylock. Shylock is Jewish, and all the others are Christians, and there was a lot of anti-Semitism in Shakespeare's day, so the Christians treat Shylock like shit (spitting on him and making him live in a ghetto, etc). So when Antonio comes for loan, Shylock says if he can't pay it back on time, he will take a pound of flesh instead. But then all Antonio's ships are wrecked at sea, and he can't pay Shylock back. It goes to court, but the judge can't find a legal reason to stop Shylock (who wants Antonio's heart). In the end, the rich woman argues that Shylock can take the flesh if he can do it without spilling any blood, which of course he can't. Then Shylock is ordered to convert to Christianity, give half his wealth to Antonio and a lot of other stuff that's basically a fate worse than death to him.

I hope that's enough for you to understand, and the Ultimate Playlist of Ultimate Destiny is published at the end. Enjoy!

Chapter 31

Richard was off with the teachers somewhere, so with nothing better to do, Dick decided to start getting ready for the play that evening. The class had returned to the hotel with two or three hours to spare before they had to leave, and in that time they were supposed to eat an early dinner and get dressed for the theatre. Richard had eaten with him, but then he was needed elsewhere so the teachers could go over the plan for the evening. So, alone in the suite, Dick knelt by his suitcase and pulled out one of the suits Alfred had packed in a plastic sheet for him.

The boy assumed it was one of the ones Bruce had bought for him at Goldworth's, but he hadn't been paying enough attention at the time to be able to recognise it now. It was black, with a white shirt and a dark grey tie, fairly simple, but Dick wouldn't have been surprised if it had a thousand tiny hidden facets that complied with ancient theatre etiquette and meant he would never be able to wear the suit anywhere else without embarrassing himself. Along with how to lay a table, Alfred undoubtedly knew how to suitably dress his employer so that he upheld the family prestige.

Dick took it into the bathroom. Even alone, he felt uncomfortable undressing in the main part of the suite. He was just so used to having eyes on him at all times.

He had the shirt on but not yet buttoned when he became aware of strange electronic music. He opened the bathroom door to listen. Maybe it was some kind of alarm? It was much too melodious to be the fire alarm, and Dick didn't remember setting any kind of reminder on the room's small computer terminal. The sound grew louder, making Dick nervous. It was too quiet to be the phone, and Richard would have taken his mobile with him.

With a sudden realisation, Dick lunged for his bag. He dumped its contents on the bed, and picked through them for his buried phone. He'd never heard it ring before, no one had ever _called_ him before, and now he'd left it ringing for too long. Only one place had the number, and no one at Wayne Manor liked to be kept waiting.

He found the flashing, vibrating phone and stared at it in panic as it continued to sing out its ringtone almost as if it was screaming at him. Dick had no idea how to answer it, the device was too complicated. Then he saw the screen had two icons on it, "Answer" in green, and "Ignore" in red. He touched "Answer" and the music stopped. He put it to his ear, his heart beating fast.

"H-Hello?"

"Master Dick."

"Yes? I mean, uh, hello, Alfred," Dick stammered, unused to talking to the butler, or indeed anyone, on the phone, while reasons for the call flooded through his head. Bruce was dead, the mansion burned down, they had found something in his room and he was in trouble for it, they were summoning him back to Gotham, Bruce was coming here... This was definitely bad news.

Dick held his breath as he waited for the hammer to fall, but all he got was silence.

"Alfred? Is everything... alright?"

"Oh... yes..." The old man cleared his throat. "And you?"

"... I'm fine." Dick answered.

"The... trip was... comfortable?" Dick listened as the butler searched for the right words like he was speaking a foreign language. This was starting to sound like an awkward social call, but that was next to impossible.

"Yes, thank you," he replied, confused. In his world, Alfred did not express concern for him, so what the hell was going on?

"And the food is satisfactory?"

"Yes," Dick answered, before elaborating in an attempt to make the conversation less awkward. "A lot of seafood."

"Ah," was Alfred's reply, clearly uncertain what an appropriate emotion would be. Not that he would have been able to produce it even if he had known. "Did you sleep well?"

Dick remembered the night before and his grip on the mobile tightened. If he told the truth – "Not really because Richard was taking up the whole bed" – Dick fully expected to be struck down by a lightning bolt of Bruce's rage, which would easily be intense enough to find him in New Carthage from Gotham. The results would not be pretty.

"Yes, I did. The bed is really big." He couldn't be sure because his own voice drowned it out, but he thought he heard another voice speaking in the distance of the phone call. He couldn't make out the words, but it was a man's voice. It could only belong to the master of Wayne Manor. A chill went over Dick. Bruce was pulling the strings of his faithful puppet as usual. What was the real reason behind the call?

Dick choked on a gasp and spun around. _Was the room bugged after all?_

'_Oh no..._' he thought to himself. He had been _so careless_. Playing with Richard as if he was actually _safe_.

Alfred spoke again, his words betraying nothing, but Dick thought he could hear the faintest implication in the old man's tone that he was relaying a message. "How is your room? Do you like it?"

Then Dick knew. He _knew_ Bruce was feeding Alfred questions and commands to satisfy his own needs. He had been right when he had thought the butler didn't care about him enough to call him on his own. There was only one person Alfred cared about.

Dick had to be careful now. Every word of every answer had to be right, he couldn't afford to make Bruce angry. He had to appease the billionaire, make him happy if he could, or there would be consequences. If Bruce was checking up on him, it probably meant the man was having second thoughts about letting his ward out of his sight and control. Mess up now, and it was bye-bye trip. Of course, if the room really was bugged, it was already too late to save himself. This would just be a test to see if Dick would lie, to gage how severe his punishment would be. The boy remembered how Bruce had reacted to Richard with unease.

"I love it," Dick said. "It's great, it has a fish tank and everything, and the view is just amazing." Dick was betting that Bruce didn't know the teacher had spilled that he had been given a special room, or that his ward had realised he was eavesdropping on the conversation. Maybe exaggerated gratitude would be enough to smooth his guardian's feathers.

"Good. And what were your activities today?" The butler asked, making it sound like 'activities' should have a capital A to fit into a strict regime. _Six o'clock: Reveille, Seven o'clock: Breakfast, 8 o'clock: Activities. _

"We went to the Art History Museum this morning," Dick told the butler, leaving out the hours of free time they had been given that he had spent loafing around with Richard in shops and fast food restaurants, and the fight McTravis had tried to start with him. A lecture on the Dutch Masters was something Bruce would support, and that was what he wanted to focus on. "Tomorrow we're going to the Natural History Museum, I think. It looks interesting," he added for good measure.

Dick heard more muffled speech, and this time he heard Alfred reply quietly as if he had turned his head away from the receiver. The boy waited tensely for what would be said next.

"Which play are you going to see tonight, Master Dick?"

"The Merchant of Venice," he replied.

"Which theatre is that?" Alfred pursued without comment.

"Er..." He dug for the itinerary in the pile that was still in front of him. "The Athena?"

"Ah, yes, I know it." Dick got the feeling he could have named any in New Carthage, and Alfred would have known it. The butler could probably comment on every theatre on the East Coast. "What time is the curtain?"

'Curtain' was a term he recognised from his own performing days, meaning the start of the show when the curtain would reveal the stage. "Six, but we're leaving the hotel at five. We should be back by ten," Dick informed the butler, letting him know that he would be a good boy at get to bed on time.

"Have you decided which suit you will be wearing?" Alfred asked.

"Er, the black one," he looked quickly back at the other suit still in his suitcase; it was also black. Shit. "With the grey tie," he added, hoping that it was enough of an identifier.

"The Nordstrom," the butler corrected him.

_Nordstrom?_ Dick thought. He hoped the other boys wouldn't be able to tell it was so expensive.

"Remember to wear the correct shoes," the old man said, suddenly stern as it was now a matter of presentation.

"I will, Alfred, don't worry."

Bruce's deep voice rumbled in the background and Dick strained his ears to make it out but it was useless.

"I also enclosed a watch that will go very well," Alfred continued as if his master hadn't spoken.

"O-Okay," Dick replied. There was an awkward pause as it appeared Alfred had no more questions. "Thank you," the boy added, just trying to fill the silence.

"You're welcome, Master Dick." The silence returned. "Well then, I hope you enjoy the performance," the butler said, sounding more English than usual as he wrapped up the conversation.

"Thanks, I... will."

"Good evening."

"Er, yeah, good – good evening," Dick said, automatically copying the old man's goodbye though it came awkwardly to him. The line clicked dead and when Dick put the phone down, the screen was showing 'Call Ended.'

Dick stood up and then immediately sat down again on the bed. _What_ had that all been about? If Bruce wanted to call him and ask those random questions for whatever insane reasons that made sense to him, why not just make the call himself? Did he think Alfred had better social skills? That almost made Dick laugh. It was as ridiculous as if Bruce had made Alfred do the talking because he was _shy_, like a kid with a schoolyard crush. Dick remembered the kiss on his last night at the manor and stopped laughing. It wasn't funny.

But why did Bruce care about those mundane questions? Dick's gut twisted painfully as he thought about the room being bugged after all, but he pushed his fear down, telling himself that Bruce just wanted his ego stroked about the room, and to remind his ward that he hadn't escaped. That was how Dick felt, as he sat alone in the hotel room – that he was no closer to being free here than he had been in Gotham. He could be sitting in his own bedroom in the Manor, it wouldn't make a difference. Bruce Wayne was still thinking about him, still keeping tabs, and as long as that was true, Dick would never be free. He had been let out, he reminded himself, he hadn't escaped.

Dick heard the little beep of the card reader and turned around to see the door handle click down. The door thumped as the lock refused to disengage and Dick grinned. He watched as the handle popped back up and the machine beeped again. This time the handle went down slowly, with wounded confidence, and once more, entry was denied.

"Push the handle down then pull the card out quickly!" Dick called in the direction of the door. There was a pause, and then a beep followed by a hasty push and the door swung open. Richard looked at Dick sitting on the bed and smiling up at him mockingly.

"You could have just let me in you know, instead of laughing at my failure," he said, shutting the door behind him and slipping the gold key card back into his pocket.

"Yeah, but then how would you learn?" the boy replied cheekily. It was impressive what a difference Richard made to the atmosphere of a room. The hotel suite was transformed back into a sunny, happy place. When Dick was alone, it hid secret traps and promises of future horrors. For a moment, Dick was hit by a wave of depression at how different he was from his friend, as different as the colour of their hair. The only thing alike about them was their name.

Richard noticed the messy pile of Dick's belongings strewn across the bed and the phone in his hand, as well as the dress-shirt he was half-wearing along with his jeans. "Everything alright?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, my phone just rang while I was changing," Dick answered as casually as he could, keeping his face down as he stood up and started stuffing everything back into the small rucksack he'd carried during the day.

"Home?" A hard coldness in Richard's tone made Dick look up in alarm.

The blonde was staring at his chest, and Dick realised his shirt was still unbuttoned, exposing the full extent of the damage Bruce inflicted on him. Most of his bruises were healing, yellow and green with only a little purple, but there were scratches too, and cuts that couldn't be explained by a fall off the bars. And worst of all, the bite mark on his collarbone, a deep mottled purple, with a circle of small hyphens starting to stand out in red as the deepest part of the wound. Bruce's teeth marks. Dick couldn't judge if Richard was able to see them for what they were from across the room, but it didn't make a difference anyway. He'd seen enough.

Dick pulled the shirt quickly closed. "Er, yeah," he said in response to Richard's question. "I'll go finish getting dressed."

He had to pass in front of Richard to get to the bathroom, but the senior let him go without trying to stop him. Muscles on his friend's jaw were standing out he was gritting his teeth so hard, and he was frowning as he kept his blue eyes on the carpet. Dick reached the en suite and shut and locked the door.

The boy rushed back and forth, pulling at his short hair. He didn't know what to do, what to _do_, but he knew he needed time and privacy, so he quickly turned the shower on, twisting the knob until it wouldn't go any further and the room started to fill with steam. The rush of the water was so loud as it bounced off the walls of the tub that it helped to drown out Dick's thoughts. The boy leant against the wall near the door, and slid down to sit with his forehead resting on his crossed arms propped up by his bent knees.

Okay, so Richard had seen a few marks, big deal. That didn't mean he _knew_. He knew more than anyone else did, but he didn't know everything. He didn't know the truth of the forbidden room and the secret of what Wayne Manor hid. Dick could just tell him that he'd been practicing outside and fallen into a thorn bush. There were already pictures of him doing gymnastics in a tree, for Christ's sake, it was a believable story. As for the bite mark, maybe he'd been hit with something, like a baseball. Maybe he and Bruce had been playing catch and he'd missed the ball and got beaned with it by accident. Yeah, 'cause Bruce was such a good dad. He'd need to be able to make that believable if anything else was going to work. _Bruce is a good dad, Bruce is a good dad, he doesn't want me to get hurt, he was really sorry..._

Dick felt like he was going to throw up his own teeth for telling such acidic lies. No way. His _real _dad was a good dad, he knew that. He couldn't pretend Bruce was, it would never work, the lie would hurt too much to tell for it ever to be believed. It would be like trying to smile while regurgitating barbed wire. But maybe if he hid in here long enough, he wouldn't have to have a story. It would blow over and Richard would forget about it by the time he came out.

Dick was startled into looking up by a knock on the door.

"Dick, if something's going on, you can tell me... I want to help."

The brunette stayed frozen on the floor of the bathroom, with no idea what to say. Richard sighed, then spoke again, quieter this time as if he wasn't sure he wanted to be heard.

"I don't like seeing you hurt."

If Dick hadn't been sitting by the door, he probably wouldn't have heard it, and if he had actually been in the shower, there was a chance he wouldn't even have heard the knock. He decided to pretend that was what happened. Hopefully, Richard wouldn't bring it up again.

He stood up and undressed, fixed the shower to a more reasonable temperature and pressure, and climbed in. The hot water helped, and by the time he emerged dressed in his suit, he felt nearly normal.

OoO

"What I'm saying is, sometimes revenge is justified."

"Murder is never justified."

The two boys managed between them to get their door open and went inside, carrying on the conversation they'd been having all the way back from the theatre.

"But Antonio's abuse of Shylock was systematic. There was no way he was ever going to just stop, there was nothing Shylock could have said to make him understand," Richard argued.

"Killing Antonio wouldn't have made it any better. In fact it probably would have made it worse. All Antonio's friends would have then wanted revenge against Shylock and probably Jews in general," Dick replied.

The boys threw their jackets on the bed and started pulling their ties loose, Dick moving to slump into the chair, Richard sitting on the bed. They were worn out, it had been a long night.

"Maybe, but I think Shylock knew that. He just wanted to hit back, score one point against the Christians to even the score a little bit."

"Then that's not justice. Justice has to be arbitrated by a third party so that it's not personal, that's why we have judges who are experts on the law. They know what's wrong or right. Justice solves the problem, it doesn't make it worse like Shylock would have. That's revenge," Dick continued, finally getting the knot on his tie undone and sliding it off. He kicked off his shoes and slouched lower in the chair.

"There's more to wrong or right than what's against the law. If someone is hurting you, it's not wrong to try to stop them. There's nothing noble about being a victim and suffering in silence pretending you can't do anything about it. If you want justice, get it yourself. A judge wouldn't have helped Shylock," Richard continued.

A shiver went down Dick's spine. Richard could have been talking about him. He was being hurt and he wasn't doing anything about it, just cowering in fear of Bruce. But what could he do? Nothing. He'd tried fighting but Bruce was so much stronger, and his guardian hurt him so much more when Dick fought back. And if he told? Wayne Enterprises was the shining jewel of Gotham, a major part of the economy of the East Coast, America, hell, even the world. A judge wouldn't help Dick either. So what was Richard suggesting he do? Try to kill Bruce to make the abuse stop, knowing that all hell would break loose? No, he couldn't do it, murder was wrong. He couldn't commit the act that had taken his parents from him.

"So you're saying Shylock was right to try to kill Antonio?" Dick summarized sceptically.

Richard shrugged. "I'm saying he was right to actually try to do something about what was happening to him. I'm saying Antonio was the bad guy in that play. If Shylock had won, I would have considered that a happy ending." The senior flopped back on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. "Besides, I'm surprised you don't agree, I mean, taking the law into your own hands... Isn't that what Batman does?" Richard turned his head to look at Dick.

"But he doesn't kill people," Dick replied.

Richard laughed a little, "No, he just beats the shit out of them. And the people he helps, are you saying that, if Batman didn't exist, they should just continue doing nothing about their problems?"

"No, they should call the police."

"Didn't you say the police in Gotham are crap and corrupt? Which they are of course," Richard asked, referring to the debate Dick gave at school.

"Yes, they are, which is why we need Batman. In fact, Batman is a good example of what I was saying about an impartial third party dispensing justice," Dick continued, always ready with something to say when it came to his hero.

"He's not a judge though, so is he wrong to try to help people? He uses violence, not the correct legal procedures."

"Batman just catches the criminals, he doesn't convict them. They go through the legal system as they should. Batman isn't a judge, he's more like an advanced cop," Dick said.

Richard laughed, bouncing on the mattress slightly. "They should put that on a T-shirt: 'Batman: An Advanced Cop'. I'm sure it would be good for his ego."

Dick smiled at the image. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. But I still think people should try to help themselves, instead of waiting around for someone else to do it, don't you?"

"...Yeah," Dick answered. Richard's question was harmless enough, and he didn't look like he was making a point with it, but it meant something to Dick. When he thought about it, he did agree with Richard. You shouldn't wait for someone else to help you; there's nothing wrong with trying to get yourself out of a bad situation, as long as you stay within the law.

_Killing someone is legal if it's in self-defence. _

Dick didn't know where that thought came from, but he knew it was dangerous. It was right though, and he couldn't get rid of it. The implications... Bruce was hurting him, he was allowed to kill in self-defence, therefore... He could kill Bruce.

No, no, no, he was _allowed_ to kill Bruce, if he waited until the man next brought him into the forbidden room, warned him not to touch him... Yes, he was allowed, but whether or not he _could_, that was different story. His guardian was so strong, and always three moves ahead. There was no way Dick could do it. He'd need a weapon of some kind, and where would he get one of those? He doubted Bruce kept any guns lying around. But maybe a knife from the kitchen... If he was clever enough in his movements, he could probably hide it without looking suspicious on the cameras...

No. He was not going to sit here and plan Bruce's murder, plan to commit a felony. No way. _But Richard said it was wrong for a victim not to try to help himself..._ Was Dick still a victim though? There was more to it than that, he thought with shame. But if he killed Bruce, no one else would know that...

Dick focused on Richard, trying to clear his head of the dangerous thoughts spiralling in his head. They were evil, he couldn't commit murder. But they were seductive – imagine, never being raped by him again, escaping Wayne Manor forever. Wasn't that a prize worth paying for? And what was he trying to save anyway, his innocence? Dick was no angel, he'd been ritually tainted and corrupted so thoroughly that the black spot of murder probably wouldn't even be distinguishable from the mess that already coated his soul. And it was Bruce who had done that to him, so wasn't it fitting that he should be the one to pay for it?

Richard sat up and got off the bed. "Well, I'm going to go get ready for bed, who knew plays were so tiring, huh?" he said, heading to the bathroom. He winked to Dick, making a joke out of what had happened earlier that night when they had come out of the theatre into a mob of paparazzi who had somehow found out where Dick was. The photographers had rushed up to him, cameras flashing and blinding him, shouting at him to look their way, or asking him some questions he couldn't make out. Clearly, the boy was still a hot topic for the Gotham tabloids, who must not have been satisfied by Bruce's controlled exposure of him at the gala. Shocked and dazzled, Dick would have been overwhelmed, but Richard pushed over to him and dragged him back into the theatre with an arm around his chest. The blonde had ordered the confused ushers to keep the doors closed and not let any of the paparazzi in, then he had shuffled Dick into the men's bathroom.

"Are you alright?" he had asked, letting him go now that they were hidden and in the quiet. They were not alone, there were still several stragglers from the audience in the bathroom, which was not large, but it didn't matter.

"Y-yeah," he'd replied, but he was shaken. He just hadn't been expecting it. Then he grew angry. Why couldn't he pretend to be normal for just four days? Why did this shit have to follow him wherever he went?

The bathroom door opened and Mr Luca came in.

"Is everything alright? Dick, are you okay?" he asked with what looked like genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dick answered with a sigh.

"Mr Luca, I think I should stay here with Dick for a while in case they go away, or get someone to show us out another way. If you took the rest of the class back to the hotel, I think they might lose interest," Richard suggested, his hand on Dick's shoulder.

The teacher looked conflicted, he clearly didn't want to leave two of his students behind, especially when one of them was getting such rabid attention.

"We'll be okay," Richard reassured him with a smile. "We'll follow you soon, and let you know as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"Well... alright, but stay in touch, and call if you can't get away, and go straight back to the hotel," Mr Luca conceded, and he left the boys alone in the bathroom.

Dick had been glad Richard was there, and impressed by the way the boy had kept his cool. The senior had acted like hiding from the paparazzi was no big deal, though Dick knew it was unusual, and for that he had been grateful.

So before Richard disappeared into their en suite bathroom, he called out "Thanks, for earlier."

Richard smiled at him, "No problem."

Dick waited until the door was closed, then he went over to his jacket on the bed and got out his phone. There was something else that had been bothering him.

As instructed, Dick had worn the watch Alfred had packed. It really wasn't Dick's style; it had a black leather strap, a gold rim and a silver face with all kinds of extra dials and displays that made it hard to read. Dick much preferred his plainer and more practical watch that he normally wore to the heavy accessory he was being made to wear now, but he knew how important it was to keep Bruce happy.

What he hadn't expected though, was for any of the other boys to recognize it.

The teachers had handed out tickets to each of the students, and as they filed slowly into the auditorium, jostling each other more and more, Dick's sleeve had been pulled back as he'd handed his ticket to the usher. Once he was on the other side, looking for his seat with Richard, someone called his name. When he turned around, he saw one of the older boys who sometimes hung out with McTravis coming towards him. Dick had no idea what he could want, but then the boy grabbed his arm and brought his wrist up in front of his face, yanking back the sleeve.

The boy's eyes went wide and he began painfully twisting Dick's arm to look at the watch under better light. "Is this a Vacheron Constantin Tour D'Ille?" he asked.

Dick hadn't even understood half of the question, so he just looked blank as he opened his mouth dumbly.

Not hearing an answer, the boy looked at Dick, and seeing his confusion, his expression darkened. "Where the fuck did you get this watch?" he said.

"I... err... it was a gift..." That was true. Bruce had presented him with the watch on his first birthday within the Manor. Dick had put it away with the rest of the meaningless crap Bruce had supplied him with, as interested in the watch as he was in the designer clothes and still-wrapped video games.

Richard stood closer to his shoulder, watching the exchange in case this friend of McTravis would turn out to be as much trouble as the bully himself.

"A gift? You don't even know what this is? This is a Vacheron Constantin Tour D'Ille! Only seven of these were ever made!" He threw down Dick's wrist in contempt and leaned close to the boy's face, his eyes narrow. "It costs one and a half million dollars."

"Wh-what?"

"What are you doing wearing it to this place? It should be locked up in a fucking vault at the bank, you dumb shit!"

"Hey!" Richard barked, stepping forward. "Back off. It's just a watch."

"Just a watch? That's the most complex watch ever made! It took over a year to design, and this shithead's wearing it to the fucking theatre-"

"What's going on here?" Their discussion had attracted Mr Jameson's attention. "Find your seats." He scowled at them.

McTravis' friend gave them a dirty look, then skulked off to another row having decided the fight wasn't worth it. Dick and Richard went and found theirs in silence. Once they were sitting down, Dick tried to ignore what the boy had said, but now the watch felt like it was pressing down on him, like he could feel the whole weight of the one and a half million dollars. He covered it with his other hand.

Richard must have noticed because he leant across and whispered "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure the watch is perfectly safe here."

"I didn't know it was worth so much," Dick replied. Then the house lights dimmed and any further conversation would have to wait.

Now, in the hotel room, Dick sat back in the chair, contemplating what he was about to do. The watch Bruce had given him was worth a fortune. It was one of only seven ever made. What lengths had his guardian gone to to get it for him? And he had never even taken a second look at it. Dick didn't feel bad about that – disregarding Bruce's gifts was about the only power he had in the Manor, and he needed it. If he could hurt the older man in any way, he would do it.

But this watch was providing him with an opportunity to make his guardian happy. And if Bruce was happy, then Dick would be allowed to stay on the trip, with Richard, without repercussions. Earlier he had been afraid of being called home, or of the room being bugged which would mean he was dead already, him and Richard too. All those things would be made better if he just sucked up to Bruce a little now.

He wanted to make the billionaire happy, but he didn't want to go too far and make the man think Dick _liked_ him, or encourage him to take liberties when he got home. If Bruce got the wrong impression, it could be as bad as if he was angry. But, for the sake of his temporary happiness here, and to protect Richard from Bruce's vengeance if the room _was_ bugged, Dick had to do it.

His mind made up, Dick puzzled through the phone's system and laboriously typed out a small text message, choosing every word with great care.

_I wore the watch you gave me tonight. It's very nice. Thank you._

Dick didn't want to write any more than that. The longer the message was, the more chance of something being misinterpreted.

Dick clicked send and his phonebook popped up. Dick had expected there to be only two names , those of his tormentors, but there was a third that made Dick's eyes go wide.

Alfred  
Bruce  
Richard Rawn

How had Richard's name got there? Of course, the senior had had his phone more than once, and as technologically illiterate as Dick was, he had had no idea what the older boy was doing. _He must have added his number because of gymnastics_, Dick told himself. _It's normal that I would have it. I can keep it._ But if Bruce found it... If he ever went though his phone... He would be angry for sure, but he couldn't really accuse Dick of anything. After all, Richard had visited him at the Manor, Bruce knew they were on the team together. He had practical reasons for having Richard's number other than friendship. It should be safe enough.

Dick selected Bruce's name and sent the text message. He was happier than he should be at seeing Richard's name in his phone. He was happy because Richard had put it there, had wanted him to have it because they were friends and he wanted Dick to be able to contact him at any time. Now Dick had someone he could call in an emergency, someone who could come and get him if he needed it.

_Like if I killed Bruce..._

The image of Richard's car outside the Manor, half obscured by the rain, on the night he had come to pick up his drunk mother after one of Bruce's parties popped into Dick's head. How would it feel to know that car, and it's driver, were there for _him_, and to get into that car and drive away, knowing that the monster's claws couldn't reach him anymore?

Dick frowned at himself for letting his thoughts get like that again. He wasn't going to kill Bruce, and he certainly wasn't going to make Richard his accomplice. Murder was not the answer.

His phone beeped in his hand, and his breath caught as he realized Bruce had replied. Dick hadn't expected him to, thinking he would be at a party or with one of his girlfriends, or would just not have his phone on or with him. Dick realized he had been hoping the message wouldn't get through but it had. What would the reply be? Good, or bad? Had his ploy to soften Bruce up worked? He opened the message and read:

_You're welcome. I'm glad you like it._

It was as short and functional as his own had been. Good. There was nothing more to read into it, nothing to make him worry. Dick breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to put the phone on his bedside table. He should get ready for bed too, he was tired after walking around all day, and being emotionally tested in the evening. He hoped he would sleep better that night, if Richard didn't creep towards him again.

OoO

By the time Dick turned off the bathroom light, Richard was already undressed and lying in the bed. Dick crossed the room in the dark and pulled up the covers, which had been tucked in tightly by the cleaning staff during the day. As big as the bed was, he still felt awkward getting into it while Richard watched.

"Hey, if I move around again tonight, just shove me away, okay? It probably won't even wake me, I'm a heavy sleeper," Richard told him.

Dick knew he would never have the guts to do that, but he murmured as if he agreed.

"And talking about Batman... I'm sorry if I come down on him sometimes, but it's just for argument's sake, I'm really not as critical as I sound," Richard said.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Dick replied, surprised that Richard should feel the need to apologise.

"I know you admire the guy, and there's nothing wrong with that, we all need heroes, right? I mean, I respect him too, he helps people. I know there are people that I wish I'd helped more when they needed me."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?" Dick asked, curious. What ghosts could be haunting Richard, who seemed so happy and sunny.

Richard shifted his eyes to look at Dick as if to gage his reaction, then seemed to decide it was alright. "Like my brother," he said.

Maybe it was the dark room or the fact that were sharing a bed, but their conversation had taken on a hushed, confidential tone as if they were talking about the blonde's deepest secrets.

Dick recalled what he knew about Richard's brother, the elder Rawn who was presumably in college by now, who Dick knew had also been a gymnast and who Mrs Rawn had revealed was gay. But Richard wasn't aware of how much Dick knew, and the younger boy didn't think it was very tactful to let him know how much his mother had drunkenly mumbled.

"What happened to him?" Dick asked.

"Well..." Richard seemed to _want_ to talk to him about this, but he was hesitating in case Dick reacted badly. All Dick could do was wait, or else he would reveal that he already knew. "My brother Robert was three years ahead of me at the Academy, captain of the gymnastics team, a pretty popular guy. Then in his junior year, he came out as gay."

Once again, Richard glanced at Dick, but the younger boy was keeping his expression attentive, but neutral, so Richard continued.

"That's a hard thing to do in an all boy's school. I wish I was that brave. But of course, it changed things for him. A lot of his friends didn't want to hang out with him anymore, thinking he might have a crush on them or something stupid like that, and the ones who stayed got all these rumours spread around about them, that they were some gay club and all dating each other and shit. He got forced off the gymnastics team 'cause he made the other members _uncomfortable_." Richard's voice had turned hard as he talked about it.

Dick didn't know what to say, not having much experience with soul-bearing. "That's really unfair," he said.

"Yeah, it was. I get shit for it sometimes too, you know, from assholes like McTravis who can only see one way, and figure me and my brother are the same. Okay, we look pretty alike, and now I'm team captain too, but McTravis wasn't even in the school when Robert was, so I don't know where he's getting it from. People must still be talking about it. That pisses me off you know, my brother's not a freak who deserves to get talked about like some kind of urban legend. It's not like Allen Bex Academy has only had _one_ gay student _ever_. It's just bullshit prejudice, you know? Like in the play with all that anti-Semitism. Robert pretty much let people say and do what they wanted, but I wish I'd done something more at the time, said something, defended him..."

"You were only a freshman, though, right? What could you have done?" Dick said, trying to comfort his friend. All this had happened when Richard was Dick's age, and just getting used to the school was enough for anyone to deal with at one time without a family crisis.

"Yeah, that's what I tell myself... Anyway, I didn't mean to depress you with this stuff, I just thought, you know..."

"Yeah, I get it."

"I'm just saying, don't get me wrong when I talk about Batman. I wish more people had the balls to help others. You ever get that feeling?"

Dick thought about it. He'd never really had anyone in his life that he'd wanted to protect. His parents had been taken from him so suddenly he hadn't had time to feel protective. He didn't have any siblings, and Richard was the first real friend he'd ever had... but he did feel protective of him, didn't he? He had tried to protect him from Bruce before. Dick smiled at that thought, that now he had something important in his life, something good, that was growing instead of being destroyed.

And as far as wanting someone to step up and protect him went... Oh yeah, he knew what that felt like.

"Yeah, I guess... It's more like I wish some people would suffer for the bad things they do, get punished. Like Shylock wanted to punish Antonio," he said.

"I thought you were arguing against that?"

"Trying to kill Antonio was wrong but I could see where Shylock was coming from. Sometimes I wish... If I ever met Batman, I would ask him to do something about it."

"About what? Who would you send Batman after?" Richard asked, clearly intrigued, and Dick realised he'd let too much of what was going on inside him show. But if he could send Batman after anybody, if he could cause anybody pain, he knew who it would be. Bruce Wayne would be close second on the list, but first of all, definitely, would be the person who killed his parents, whoever they were.

Richard had shared with him. He'd opened up and told Dick something that he presumably didn't want to tell anyone, because they were friends and that was what friends did. Dick thought about Richard's name in his phone and wanted to repay the favour.

Dick settled onto his back and looked at the ceiling.

"...Someone sabotaged the equipment the night my parents died. The cops didn't believe me, so whoever did it is still out there. I'd ask Batman to do something about that."

"...Shit... that's…" came Richard's quiet voice from out of the dark, and when Dick turned his head he saw the older boy's silhouette shift under the covers, one hand moving as

as if to touch him. Dick tensed with a kind of sick anticipation, but after a moment of hesitance Richard's hand settled on top of the covers and the senior lay very still. Dick closed his eyes.

"…I don't blame you. I would too," the blonde finished after a pause and Dick turned away, not wanting to continue the conversation, and eventually he heard Richard roll over for sleep.

**Author's Note:** The Ultimate Playlist:

Archive - Fuck You (for Dick)  
Young Heretics - I know I'm a wolf (for Bruce)  
Perfect circle - Pet/Counting Bodies Like Sheep (for Bruce)  
Placebo - My sweet prince  
White Lies – Farewell to the Fairground  
Skillet –Monster  
Castle Walls –T.I. (Dick)  
White lies-EST (Dick)  
Iamx – S.H.E. (Dick)  
Nichole Aldren – Baby Now (Dick)  
Tool – Prison Sex (Bruce/Dick)  
Radiohead – Exit Music, Talk Show Host  
Sia – I'm in here (Dick)  
Patrick Wolf – Overture (adult!Dick)  
Thrice – The Lion and the Wolf  
The Rescuers - Break Me Out (Richard/Dick)  
Framing Hanley- Built for Sin (Dick)  
Song Ji Eun – Going Crazy (Bruce/Dick)  
Kylie Minogue – Confide in Me (Richard/Dick)


	32. Boy from the Past

Chapter 32: Boy from the Past

Dick was walking the path to the greenhouse, leaving the looming darkness of Wayne Manor behind. It was hot outside and he sweat under the warm afternoon sun. Even in the dream, he started to recognize the familiar scenery; the well-kept bushes, tall trees in the background; their tops gleaming in the sharp sunlight like little lighthouses in the distance. It was all green and healthy and yet at the same time strangely fake, like putting a leash on something uncontrollable, nature in a pretty cage. Superficially it was charming, and Dick liked the small park very much, yet it was as if it was only now, in a dream, that he was able to glimpse the true ugliness underneath.

He used to come here often when he first arrived at the manor. He liked the trees, liked climbing them and hearing them rustle in the distance. At the time he didn't quite realize the sturdiness of his cage, and he used to toy with the idea of running away. He used to like the small park because it gave him a feeling of freedom and privacy and the possibility of an escape. He was naïve back then. Stupid. Didn't know anything.

As he walked down the path he followed a loud wailing noise in the distance; a sort of high pitched cry that sounded terribly painful. The crying was incredibly loud and seemed to belong to a child, and as Dick's feet led him towards the source of the noise, his heart began to beat uneasily as he imagined what he would find. It could almost be confused for a siren if not for the occasional sob and a word that punctuated it. The child was crying something, one word over and over but it was impossible to make out from this distance and it was as if it triggered a protective instinct inside of him because his heart started to beat faster and faster. Dick hastened his steps until he passed the greenhouse and arrived at the flower garden. He saw a small boy standing in the distance by the apple tree.

From this distance Dick couldn't be quite sure, but the boy reminded him of somebody and so he took a swift step closer, suddenly conscious of the fact that the crying noise has stopped. The child looked completely unaffected and his small face showed no signs of tears. Dick was confused; if the crying hadn't been coming from this boy, then who had it come from? The child in front of him had short black hair that was brushed back fashionably and a vest with a formal shirt and black shorts. The boy watched Dick as he completed the journey to the apple tree.

"Hello," Dick said, looking down at the child. He looked to be around six or seven years old. The boy gave him a trusting smile as if he knew him.

"You're here!" he said excitedly and took Dick by the hand "Come on, let's go!" His fingers were small and warm as they wrapped around his and before he knew what was happening the teen was dragged further into the greenery, the trees whispering eagerly over their heads, ripe and almost achingly heavy with fruit. The air was thick with sweetness.

"Hey, where…where are we going?" Dick asked clumsily, letting himself be dragged further and further away from the greenhouse. He started to recognize his surroundings and a nostalgic feeling enveloped him as he realized where the little boy was taking them.

As they moved, the boy pulled more and more, until Dick was forced to run to keep up, but still the little boy was ahead of him. They passed the old well and a couple of stone statues, both boys running at a steady pace but only Dick panting and out of breath. His hand started to ache from being held so tightly and Dick tried to move it to change the position but the boy didn't let him.

It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination, the nameless boy finally letting go of his hand and crawling through the space between the rocks. Dick recognized the secret passage, he had been there before. It was big enough to allow one child to squeeze through comfortably and he barely made it, only thanks to his unusual flexibility. He used to come to the small secret cave because it gave him a feeling of security - no adult could possibly pass through and follow him in. But there was also something strange and claustrophobic about the place that had made him stop coming for good. He wasn't even sure if he could squeeze himself out once he was in - he had grown quite a bit over the past year - but his guide hauled him down into the hole before he could object.

The small passage underground was obviously man-made and a very amateur work at that. It must have been dug out by some kids that used to live here, decades ago. Dick knew that he would find a small space inside and childish scribbles and carvings on some of the stones. One in particular always caught his eye when he used to come here - a big heart sign with two letters written next to each other, an old lover's pact. He assumed it was done by whoever used to live here, maybe even before Bruce's parents' generation and this made him see the small boy by his side in a new light. Perhaps he was one of the ghosts of Wayne Manor.

He got dirt and leaves in his hair as he followed the child inside, the boy in front of him ruining his expensive clothes with soil and grass. The tunnel was shorter than he remembered and soon they were both huddled up next to each other in the small space underground. His neck hurt because there wasn't space to straighten up.

There were some pictures of animals and monsters scribbled to his right with an indistinct figure fighting them off. Dick couldn't make much of the details and when he turned to look at the boy, he was carving something on one of the stones embedded in the ground at their feet, the small coin he used glinting in the darkness of the cave.

With a start Dick realized it was a big heart sign. When he looked around he couldn't see the lover's pact anywhere and he understood that it was only now that it was being created. How strange. So he was in the past?

"This is me," the small boy said and when Dick looked over his shoulder he saw a barely recognizable B carved into the pale stone. He blinked at the letter, a sudden feeling of dread enveloping him. Could this boy…Was he…?

He couldn't believe it never occurred to him. He remembered clearly that the letters were 'B + R' but despite staring at it for hours he never thought that… that it could actually be Bruce himself who wrote that, as a little boy. It was such a strange, unthinkable notion; Bruce as an innocent young boy in love, carving a lover's pact for his childhood sweetheart.

"And this is you."

The boy pointed at the heart and Dick saw the familiar 'B+R' lettering. The little boy that he now recognized as a young Bruce from the photos he had seen grinned at him, pleased with what he had done, and Dick saw that he was missing a tooth. The child then scrambled over Dick's lap, his bony elbows and knees digging in painfully in the small space, so that he could kneel in front of the wall and add to the drawing of a man fighting monsters. Dick watched with a growing sense of dread as Bruce began carving a second, smaller figure behind the first, humming happily as he did so.

Dick shook his head. "No, no, that's not me..." he said quietly, not wanting to upset the child, but Bruce spun to look at him anyway, his face dark. The coin in his hand glinted again as the boy rubbed it in a harmless gesture that filled Dick with foreboding none the less. He knew he had done something wrong.

"Why not?" young Bruce whined, pouting slightly.

"I, er..."

The boy abandoned his drawing and crawled over to Dick, climbing into his lap and gripping his forearm with a strength Dick would have attributed to an adult man, not a small boy.

His heartbeat quickened and he started to struggle.

"Stop it!" the boy demanded bossily, "We're going to play!" Bruce pulled on his arm to keep him from the exit, but Dick pushed towards it anyway, leaving the boy behind. He tried to squeeze through the small tunnel but the opening started to shrink before his eyes, getting smaller and smaller and smaller until he couldn't even fit his head through. The little cave was now insufferably small and his neck hurt even more as he was forced to lean down, his shoulder banging against the wet earth.

"You are _my_ friend!" the boy stated with a possessive gleam in his eyes and Dick roughly shoved him away. The child banged his head against the stones and started to cry, that terrible loud wailing sound that he had heard at the beginning of the dream. Even between the tears he was glaring at Dick hatefully.

"How dare you hit me!" he shouted and the sound was so loud Dick had to press his hands against his ears in agony. It seemed as if the whole cave was shaking with the child's anger.

"Just let me go! I won't hurt you if you let me go!" Dick shouted, wanting to be heard through the loud cries but it was useless, the boy didn't listen to him. He was consumed with rage and continued shouting at him, slowly making his way towards the panicked teen.

"I will never let you go! Never! You're going to be with me, always!" he shouted, crawling through the dirt and the rocks. "And when I die I'm going to take you with me!"

"No!" Dick cried out and turned his face up towards the ceiling in panic. There had to be a way out, he had to get out. The rock bit into his fingertips as he desperately tried to dig his way out with his hands. The loose earth fell into his face, but he could see tiny points of light beginning to show through, and Dick gasped with relief at the sight of his escape. But the little boy jumped at him they struggled. Dick could see his way out shining just above him, but as long as the little boy was there he would never be able to reach it. He tried to push him away but Bruce's grip was everywhere, impossible to dislodge. The light began to fade.

"_No_!" he shrieked again, and he seized his attacker's small head and slammed it against the rock wall. Alarmed by what he had done, and breathing heavily, Dick hesitated, and in that moment the boy lunged up at him and Dick screamed out in agony as he felt intense pain in his neck - a bite. He threw the little boy across the cave in anger and brought a hand to his shoulder to feel the wound. It was bleeding heavily and when he looked back towards the child, its mouth was bloody and it spit out a peace of his flesh merrily, then laughed a deep gurgling chuckle.

"I'm going to KILL YOU!" Dick yelled, full of rage, and threw himself on the child, going for its face. He dug his fingers into the boy's eyes and stabbed, over and over, feeling his fingers pierce through something soft and gooey and the child continued to struggle underneath him, making that terrible wailing noise again, crying and shouting in pain and there was blood everywhere and a sick crack, bones snapping and he was being kicked and the cave started to collapse around them as Dick continued to hold the boy down, trying to choke him and staring down at the bloodied eyes that were now completely ruined, his face unrecognizable beneath the –

"DICK! WAKE UP!"

His eyes flew open with a gasp.

For a brief moment he moved his hands around in panic, expecting to feel soil soaked in blood under his shaking fingers, but slowly the feel of the soft bed sheets got through to him and he collapsed against his pillow in relief. Just a dream. The sweat was warm and sticky on his back and he felt as if he barely avoided his own death.

Out of the darkness a hand suddenly emerged and touched his shoulder softly. Dick went rigid, ready to fight.

"It's me," Richard's voice came from above him and Dick relaxed. He pulled himself into a sitting position awkwardly, and felt the hand move with him. His face was hot and wet and he wiped at it with embarrassment, thankful for the darkness.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Dick asked, trying to sound normal. His nose was full and he sounded like he had a very bad cold. He coughed a bit, forcing himself not to sniff and give his tears away.

"No, it's…it's alright," Richard replied and let go of him slowly. "I was up anyway; the guys next door were having a party and I had to go break it off." After a pause he added "I just got back now and… you looked like you were having a nightmare, so I woke you up."

"A party?" Dick asked, immediately latching onto the topic. "I bet it was in McTravis' room."

"Yeah," Richard replied thoughtfully and Dick started to recognize the outline of his friend, his eyes adjusting to the darkness around them. The blonde was hovering above him unsurely, obviously unsettled by what he had just witnessed. Dick must have been crying or shouting in his sleep. How embarrassing.

Dick's heart was still beating rapidly and his hands shook from the misplaced adrenalin under the blankets. He felt like his body was trying to keep warm by shivering and being jittery, but the temperature in the room was normal and he was too hot under the covers. His fingers were still grasping the child's neck, clawing at his face over and over again in his head, and he wiped them against his thighs in disgust.

He had killed a child… with these hands.

"I'm just gonna… go… bathroom…" the boy mumbled quietly and Richard immediately moved to make space for his shaken roommate as Dick stood up on unsteady feet, concentrating on keeping his balance on his way to the half opened door.

"Are you ok?" Richard's voice called after him.

"Yeah. I'm just all sweaty," he responded, hoping to sound casual. He quickly went to close the door behind him, and his fingers automatically reached for the lock before forced them away again. He didn't want to appear even stranger by locking himself inside a bathroom this late at night.

What a nightmare. In the harsh electric light, Dick started to feel saner and even somewhat silly. The fear swiftly evaporated and was replaced by embarrassment; the boy's startled reflection staring back at him looking out of place in the luxurious bathroom. It was getting harder and harder to remember the details of the dream and Dick let himself forget, not wanting to think of the claustrophobically small cave or the little boy's smashed face. It made him sick and he leaned down against the sink, splashing his face with cold water, once, twice and then grabbing the towel to his right to dry off.

He used to have a lot of dreams in which people hurt him, and in this way the pattern of the nightmare was typical; he met his attacker, got trapped and ended up in a struggle. However this was the first time that Dick actively fought back and turned from the victim to the killer, an unexpected transformation that left him a shaking, guilty mess. He killed that boy in the dream, didn't he? With his bare hands and he just felt so scared and angry at the time… Yes, it was Bruce, but then again it wasn't. It had been a child half his age, not yet guilty of a single crime against him, just a victim of Dick's own paranoia and fear, and he could still feel the boy fighting for his life.

It reminded him of his thoughts earlier that day, of his conversation with Richard about revenge and his own ponderings on the subject. _Murder is wrong_, Dick thought sickly as he stared at his pale reflection in the mirror, _I could never kill anyone_. Clearly this was his subconscious' way of not letting him forget that. Dick let out a long sigh.

He felt wide awake now which was bad. From his face it was obvious that he needed sleep, so after he had put himself back together, Dick left the bathroom, hoping that he would be able to get at least some rest during this trip. The room was dark and he could hear the soft rustling of clothes being taken off by the bed; Richard had probably had to put something on when he went to break off that party, and now he was undressing to go back to sleep.

He heard the senior stop as he walked over to the bed, but after a few tense seconds the blonde resumed undressing and Dick silently sat himself on the other side of the bed. It was still warm from his body heat and he could feel how damp the pillow was from his sweat. Dick pulled a face and flipped it over so he would be sleeping on the dry side. He slowly lay down, awkwardly aware of everything around him.

"Check this out," Richard's voice cut through the dark, friendly and bright. He sounded tired and Dick turned to face him only to have something drop on his face. When he lifted it off him, he realized it was a t-shirt.

"It stinks of weed now. Those guys are lucky it was me who caught them."

Dick sniffed at the shirt, smelling a smoky, intense fragrance that was overwhelming at such a close range. He detected a different, more pleasant scent underneath which he realized was Richard's natural smell and quickly moved it away, realizing he had it pressed against his face for longer than was socially acceptable in this situation.

"How did they get it?" he asked, putting the shirt on top of the covers.

"Who knows? One of them probably had it in their luggage. We didn't check the bags or anything…" The blonde let out a long yawn and lay down next to Dick, his silhouette turning towards him as he continued: "They also had some Absolut Vodka and I took that too. Maybe we should just have our own party in here…" he mumbled sleepily and from his voice Dick could tell that his friend was smiling in the dark. He sounded like he was about to fall asleep.

"Maybe…" Dick replied softly, smiling too. He was perfectly calm now, his body no longer tense or shaking.

There was a long pause during which Dick thought his friend had fallen asleep until he spoke up again: "You know… whenever I have a nightmare, I can't fall asleep again afterwards."

Dick glanced at the older boy in the dark, embarrassed that he had brought it up. He didn't want to seem weak in front of the senior and although his face was clean he could still feel the warm tears that had been there just a moment before.

"Do you have nightmares often?" Dick asked, turning the conversation onto Richard.

"Hm. Sometimes," he replied with a soft voice. "I used to have them a lot when I was younger. I used to dream that a giant snake was wrapping itself around me and just… squeezing. And it kept on squeezing, and I would try to break off and it would take ages till it choked me."

Dick blinked at the words, trying to picture a younger, smaller Richard struggling in his sleep.

"I wasn't doing very well during that time of my life and well… I guess you get nightmares from stress, right?" the blonde continued and Dick nodded, only realizing after a moment that Richard couldn't see him and so hummed instead.

"You know what? I think I know what might help," his friend stated sleepily and Dick could hear him standing up from the bed and walking across the room. He sat up curiously and watched the tall figure walk around blindly until he stopped near the couch where they dropped their bags. There was the sound of a zipper being opened, and the rustle of clothes and plastic bags as Richard searched for something inside the suitcase.

Just when Dick opened his mouth to ask what he was looking for Richard abruptly stood up and turned around to make it back to the bed.

"Here you go," he said and Dick opened his hands to receive a small plastic object that was dangling from Richard's fist. It was very thin and small with small wires attached… After he examined it from all angles he realized it was some sort of mp3 player. An I-pod maybe? What was even the difference between the two?

"You're hopeless, Dick," Richard said with a soft laugh and shifted closer, until he was pressed against his shoulder and holding the small machine up for both of them to see. He pressed a button and the screen lit up, causing Dick to squint against the light as he listened to his friend's instructions.

"This is for the volume, you just move your finger like this… these are the songs, sorted by album…"

Richard's voice was soft and intimate next to him and his shoulder was a warm, comforting pressure against his arm. Dick felt his body relax completely and a sort of calm awareness overtook him, the terror of the nightmare finally disappearing from his mind as he watched his friend explain.

After a few unsure questions Dick got the basics down and started to navigate the machine himself.

"You make fun of my music and you're dead," Richard said as he rolled away, pulling the cover over both of them with sleepy fumble. He sounded like he was about to drop off any minute. He must have been more exhausted than Dick realised after walking around all day and keeping the students in line at night.

"Goodnight, Richard," Dick said with an amused smile. His friend's tried to pat his head awkwardly, his hand reaching behind him to swat at the area he thought Dick might be until he eventually managed to lightly brush against his ear.

"Night 'cus boy," the blonde mumbled into his pillow, letting go. Then there were only deep breaths and the occasional snore and Dick turned back to the shining screen with squinting eyes.

He somehow ended up on one of the albums with no idea what he pressed. He made sure to lower the volume so as not to wake Richard up (although he said that he would be able to sleep through anything) and clicked on one of the songs with a funny sounding name: _Please Mr Postman_

He burrowed his face in the pillow as he listened to the lyrics.

_Wait oh yes wait a minute Mr Postman!_

_Wait wait wait wait Mr Postman!_

The song sounded very old with vaguely familiar voices singing it; a group of young men with guitar and drums. He didn't expect Richard to listen to old stuff like this, it sounded like something his dad used to play on his guitar when they made a bonfire and sang songs with the rest of the performers. In fact, Dick was sure that it was the same band. He glared against the light of the screen, looking at the album title and small words that said: _There with the Beatles 1963_

The Beatles, of course! His dad used to love them, always teaching Dick the lyrics so that he could sing along while he played the guitar. How could he have forgotten? He was sure that if he went through a few of these he would be actually be able to find some he used to sing along with. _Please Mr Postman_ ended and Dick rolled over to Richard's side, awaiting the next familiar song.

He didn't know how much time had passed or how many songs he listened to. The digital clock flashed on the screen occasionally but it was completely wrong and insisted on it being one o'clock in the afternoon which probably meant that Richard hadn't bothered setting it right. His friend was lightly snoring by his side, one of his hands thrown above Dick's head on the pillow, the other tucked neatly under his own chest as he slept on his stomach. Dick continued listening to the songs, painfully awake and tired at the same time. He wondered if he would be able to fall asleep at all and if so then how would Richard get him out of the bed in the morning when the alarm went off.

He was becoming restless and thought about going to the bathroom for a drink of water when a painfully familiar melody started to play and Dick tensed up, holding his breath as he listened with all of his being, trying to remember.

_I give her all my love_

_That's all I do_

_And i__f you saw my love_

_You'd love her too_

He knew all the words, even after all the pain, all the humiliation, all those moments of sadness and loneliness - he knew them all. When he closed his eyes, Dick could see his father playing the guitar, his dark hair shining reflecting the yellow firelight as the campfire burned brightly in the middle of the opened circle. His mother was wearing the dress she always wore whenever they set up a fire; dark blue with white dots all over, her brown hair in a messy bun. She always said she didn't want her clothes ruined because of the smoke and always only wore that one dress that fell down to her knees, fluttering in the light breeze. His dad used to say she looked like a nymph in it and although at the time Dick didn't know what it meant, he always called her that too.

His mum would always act embarrassed when they started to sing this song; giggling and looking away and telling them to stop despite the fact that she was smiling, flushed with pleasure. Sometimes she would even stand up and walk away, and during those times his dad would follow her around with the guitar, singing the song for her as Dick ran after them with a laugh, the performers around them shouting and whistling as they passed them by.

His dad always used to tell him that when Dick found a girl of his own, he would teach him how to play this song on the guitar so that he could woo her. As a little kid Dick just vehemently shook his head and said that he would never sing it for anyone else but his mum.

Thinking back on it now, Dick realized he was right.

_Bright are the stars that shine  
Dark is the sky  
_

It was such a cheesy, hopelessly romantic song but he could feel tears spill from his eyes nevertheless, hot and heavy as he thought of his mum's blue polkadot dress and the way it always smelled of smoke when she hugged him.

_I know this love of mine  
Will never die_

_'And I love her'_ Dick mouthed into the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably. It was so easy to let go and cry when he did it just a few hours ago and he stifled his sobs as he wept painfully into the sheets, curled up like a wounded animal not bothering to pick itself up again.

The secret box inside himself, the box that stored all the memories of his parents and the pain, the shock, the hopelesness he felt after they died suddenly burst open, overflowing without his consent, and he was left writhing in agony, a creature made of sadness. It was as if all those times he held back came crushing down and he just cried and cried, his mouth open in a howl but managing to remain completely silent. The pain felt purely instinctual, primal; an animal that was separated from his pack and left on his own. It felt unnatural and painful and Dick burried his face in his hands as he tried to silence his sobs. He could feel Richard's hand above his head, his friend's quiet snores offering him comfort in the dark room. He curled up until he could feel the blonde's still fingers in his hair, his hand against Dick's forehead not quite as soft and comforting as his mother's, nor as warm and steady as his father's, and Dick cried harder at the disappointment his pathetic, needy gesture brought him.

His jaw started to hurt and his chest ached; he felt exhausted and small. The earphones had long since fallen out but Dick continued to lie very still, focusing on stopping his tears. The silence in the room was overwhelming and Dick shifted a bit closer to Richard's hand, pulled by its warmth. He sniffed and exhaled, suddenly realizing that the room was eerily quiet, too quiet and for a moment he tried to put a finger on what was missing, only to realize that he couldn't hear Richard's soft snores anymore. In fact he couldn't hear him at all.

The hand in his hair moved slightly and Dick jumped, trying to blink his tears away as he realized that Richard had just woke up. The crying boy held his breath, his body tense.

"Dick…?" his friend asked sleepily. The warm hands started to uncertainly touch at his hair, trying to place the position of their bodies. Dick swallowed nervously, waiting for a reaction. Richard's hand felt familiar and good in his hair.

" 'nother nightmare?" he mumbled and Dick could only nod dumbly, knowing that the other boy would be able to feel the gesture with his hands. There was a slight shift where Richard moved closer to him and his hands left Dick's hair, reappearing on his hand. Richard grasped at it, as if offering a formal handshake and Dick gripped it immediately, perhaps too tight in his grief.

It was the only contact between their two bodies and yet it felt alarmingly powerful, as if he was hanging from Richard's grip in a certain mix of blind trust and desperation. It was only a hand, but it was the only thing Dick had that proved to him that he wasn't completely alone, that he was alive and that he hadn't died along with his parents in that circus tent. Dick needed to know that, needed it like air, and he clumsily brought his second hand to wrap Richard's from both sides greedily. His friend's face was shrouded in darkness and turned towards him, unmoving like a statue, but he didn't pull away. Dick didn't care if he was embarrassing himself, he didn't care what he might be giving away or what might happen to him as a result. All he cared about was feeling that contact with another human being, having that touch to keep him together.

The earphones lay on the blanket with soft sounds of music coming from within as the I-pod still played on. Guitar. Foreign voices.

Richard's hand felt wonderful in his and Dick held on, absorbing the human contact like a thirsty plant. How could he forget how wonderful it felt to touch another person? To have another human being so close to him , warm and sleepy next to his body… Dick closed his eyes, his muscles relaxing as he breathed together with Richard, like an animal that found its pack, sleeping in a pile. He slowly loosened his fingers until he completely let go and they separated, Dick's fingers tingling pleasantly, his heart tired yet satisfied.

"Thanks," he mumbled and meant it. Richard didn't give him a response, only continued looking at him through the darkness, and with him there Dick soon fell into welcoming darkness, falling asleep with ease for the first time in almost a year.

**Author's Note:**That was The Beatles with _Please Mr Postman_ and _I Love Her_. We really recommend you listen to that second one, it breaks your heart when you think about it. Anyway, didn't AmberSpirit do a good job?

And we got to 500 reviews! Wow, we're way ahead of schedule, I don't think we'd get this much. We'll probably have over 1000 by the time we're done. Crazy.

Something we should have done a while ago (but I forgot about it, I'm so sorry) is plug some TBITM fanart by tigersmt334 on Deviantart. It's amaaaaaaazzziiing. If you search for 'The Boy in the Manor' or 'Richard + Dick' you should find them. She has five in a series (my favourite of which is 2 because OH MY GOD) and one I think we've plugged earlier called Robin's Reckoning.

And to shamelessly fish for more reviews now that we're not taking anymore playlist suggestions, we're going to start CASTING this fic. We've already said that Alex Pettyfer is our perfect Richard, so let's start with that. Does anyone else have any other competitors for Richard?


	33. The Boy's Future

Chapter 33

Dick sucked down some more of the whipped ice cream in a cup that was advertised as a milkshake and squinted against the sun. The wooden roll and slams of the skateboarders in front of him was strangely soothing. It was a nice day, a good last day in New Carthage. The sun was shining but it wasn't too hot, and he was drinking milkshakes with Richard on a bench without an adult in sight. A good day.

When he woke up that morning, Richard was in the bathroom, and though he'd had to wipe dried tears off his cheeks, his little scene from the night before hadn't come up. Richard smiled at him when he emerged from the bathroom just as he always did, holding the fluffy white hotel towel closed around his hips with one hand, and gestured behind him.

"Bathroom's free."

Dick didn't want to talk about it, and it looked like Richard didn't either, and that was just fine. Looking back on it, it all kind of seemed like a dream. Losing it _that_ completely was surreal. That being said, Dick felt better than he had in a long time, like a tension in his shoulders had eased, or a red-hot wire had been pulled away so that it wasn't burning him anymore. The box inside him that he always kept locked tightly had opened, and it wasn't so sore anymore. Okay, he didn't exactly roll around in the memory of his last night at the circus, but he didn't feel like he needed to be so careful anymore. He had a connection now, a lifeline, something to pull him out of the dark.

That morning they had gone to another museum, and he and Richard had walked slowly through the galleries, not really looking at most of the exhibits, giving McTravis and his cronies a wide berth as they snickered at the naked statues and came close to doing something stupid, until the weedy Andrew nervously suggested they move on. _Poor kid_, Dick found himself thinking, _having to share a room with McTravis, and not having anyone else to walk around with during the day._ If it weren't for Richard, that would be him. He'd gotten lucky.

At these moments Dick would notice how Richard always seemed to have one eye trained on the other boys, and think about how tiring it must be to have to keep an idiot like Josh out of trouble, 24-hours a day. No wonder his friend looked pale this morning, with dark shadows under his eyes, and was being quieter than usual. Richard had been up half the night before policing people in their rooms, and the other half he'd been sharing a bed with a screaming, thrashing, crying Dick. The boy resolved to make sure Richard got a good night's sleep before they went back to Gotham. He owed it to him.

And they were free for the rest of the afternoon. Richard had looked so exhausted that for lunch they just went to a fast-food pizza chain that was cheap and easy and the senior already knew what he liked. Then they'd gone to check out the University campus. Richard had seemed interested in it, though Dick assumed he'd already figured out what he wanted to do after school. After all, he was graduating in a few months. But when they got there, Dick had been seriously impressed by the beauty and vitality of the campus. It had large stretches of green grass, looking strange to Dick after living exclusively in a city for over a year, and carefully architectured buildings of dark yellow stone that managed to look old and brand new at the same time. So the pair had wandered around, checking out the various facilities until they had eventually bought drinks at the student cafe and went outside to drink them.

Dick took another sip through his straw.

"Good?" Richard asked, his voice a little rough from fatigue, from his seat next to Dick on the stone bench, his elbows on his knees making him hunch forward and have to turn his head to look at Dick.

Dick shrugged and nodded. "Pretty good," he consented. "You want some?" he asked, and held out the cup with the straw pointing towards the blonde.

Richard shook his head and rolled his bottle of orange juice between his hands. "No thanks." Then he sat up and rubbed his hands down his sides, sucking in his cheeks and batting his eyelashes. "I'm watching my figure," he said. Dick laughed. "We can't all look as good as you do in our tights," Richard continued, slouching back into his former position with his elbows on his knees.

"You look alright to me," Dick said before thinking, then he blushed and quickly looked away. What a dumbass thing to say. Stupid, stupid.

But Richard didn't seem to have noticed. He just gave a tired and crooked, closed-lipped smile. "Thanks," he said.

One of the boys on a skateboard made a particularly rough landing, and the noise drew both of their eyes. Dick noticed how Richard's gaze followed the boys up and down the ramps.

"So you want to come here after you graduate?" he asked the blonde.

Richard shrugged. "It doesn't matter where I want to go, what matters is what my dad wants, and what scholarships I can get. New Carthage is a bit too... _liberal_ for my old man."

"Really? So where are you going to go?" Dick asked, intrigued.

"I've got some offers, haven't made a final decision yet." Richard's voice had taken on a flat, dark intonation.

"You don't seem very happy about it," Dick probed.

"No, well, more school is kind of the last thing I want to do," Richard replied, draining the last of his orange juice and throwing the bottle into a bin ten feet away.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to get out of this bubble! I want to see the world, and not in an upper-middle class gap year kind of way. I want to meet people, _real_ people, not these stuck-up, clueless, mindless capitalist clones. But if my dad gets his way it'll be Allen Bex, Ivy League and Fortune 500, with no deviation possible. And then I can marry a trophy wife all my own and resent her into substance abuse, then one day buy a gun and kill myself. I tell you, my brother really had the right idea by coming out and pissing off my dad and getting disowned, he can live any way he wants now, my dad doesn't even talk to him anymore."

Dick didn't know what to say. The truth was, he'd also kind of assumed that was how Richard would live his life – the older boy just had so much potential. Dick knew that with his grades, athletics and background, Richard would be able to get into any college in the US, and until now, he hadn't thought he would have any reason not to.

"But the problem is," Richard continued. "I do want to go to college. I just want to pick one _I_ like, and maybe wait a few years before I go. But I can't afford to piss my dad off because what'll happen to my mum then? If I get cut off, I'll be okay, but... Someone's got to be the responsible one, right? And what's the difference between Yale now and New Carthage later, really? When I think like that it almost sounds alright, but I just can't bring myself to sign the papers and make it official. There's still something I want to do before I give up entirely on enjoying myself."

"What is it?"

Richard glanced at Dick then looked back at the skaters. "I... Have you ever been so attracted to something, that you feel like if you actually did it, you would have no regrets? Like you could spend your whole life doing it, and you'd never get tired of it?"

Dick didn't really know what Richard was talking about, but he tried to think. Growing up, he'd been happy, a circus boy, living the kind of life most kids envied. Then everything had gone wrong and he'd been thrown into an impenetrable darkness that he might never escape. As a kid, he'd never felt that anything was missing, and he'd thought his life would go on that way. Now... Wishes and dreams were nothing but weapons for Bruce to use against him, and he tried not to have them anymore.

"I don't know... Maybe," was the best Dick could answer, as lame as it sounded. "Have you?"

Richard sighed, as if he knew it would never happen. "Yeah. If I could do anything in my life..." He trailed off, sitting up and looking at Dick as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say.

"What? You can tell me," the boy pressed.

Richard watched him for a while and then shifted his gaze back to the half-pipes.

"On the fourth of September in New York City…" he said while tugging at his fingers in a nervous gesture. Dick caught the movement with his eyes; it was strangely endearing. "...Martial arts stunt group Nox Ex are having an audition." At Dick's confused expression he added "They are the best in the industry and by best I mean… they've done it all. Crash Course 2, Call This Number, Extremes, Trouble in Tokyo-" When he noticed his friend's lost expression, the blonde stopped and lifted one of his eyebrows. "…And once again, you have no idea what any of those are, huh?"

"…No" Dick admitted sheepishly. Richard smiled but his fingers were still moving nervously.

"It's… well, I guess it's kind of stupid. It's not real martial arts it's just _pretend_… like those really bad Chinese fighting movies you see on the TV sometimes…" He smirked weakly and then glanced up at Dick with a searching gaze.

Something in the boy's eyes must have mirrored his own uncertainty because he smiled that crooked, closed-lipped smile again and said "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No! Of course not," Dick protested, wanting to tell Richard something different than what he was obviously used to hearing.

"It's not even real, nothing I could use in real life, purely for entertainment purposes, silly even…" Richard said, and it sounded like he was parroting something somebody told him in the past. Dick's brows furrowed and he turned to face his friend completely.

"Sounds like the trapeze."

Richard met his gaze and there was an understanding there.

"It's not real, it's pretend and yet you have to have complete control of your body to make sure it looks exactly how you want it to look without any actual damage. It's not the same as gymnastics, you don't have to follow the boring, same old routines over and over again…You can do new things, create a routine of your own, make it better, more realistic, more cool, more impressive…"

The teen stopped then, cutting himself off as if realizing he was giving too much away.

"But a dream is just a dream, right? I'm probably never going to do it, my old man would rather tear off his right arm than pay for me to do stuff like that, not if I don't do what he wants. Even if I passed the auditions in September, I can't do both that and college, and let's face it, college makes sense. I guess I can always just do this stuff part-time on the weekends." Richard turned to Dick with a weak smile meant to show the freshman how alright the blonde was with everything, but it didn't reach his eyes which still held a glint of frustration and resistance, like the boy was swallowing a really big pill.

Dick suddenly felt a rush of indignation bubble up inside him. It wasn't right, Richard shouldn't be trapped like he was, he deserved to do anything he wanted in life.

"No, you _should_ audition," the boy said with possibly more force than he'd ever used with Richard. "You shouldn't let anything stop you if that's what you want. If you don't, you really are just going to end up like your dad. No, worse, because at least your dad is doing what he wants to do, you'd be miserable before you even hit twenty. Don't you think there's something wrong with that? You need to fight! Otherwise you're going to be trapped for the rest of your life!"

Richard seemed a little taken back by Dick's outburst, and the younger boy realised he had leant a little too close as he'd tried to get his point across. He leant back and took another gulp of his melting milkshake to cover it, looking out at the group of teens swooping up and down the skate park.

"Well, what about you, circus boy? What do you want to do with your life? I assume you're not planning on following Wayne's footsteps," Richard asked, and Dick couldn't quite decide whether the senior sounded offended or impressed.

That idea almost made Dick regurgitate his milkshake, so Richard had guessed right about that. What _did_ he want to do with his life? He wouldn't be Bruce's prisoner until the day he died, he had to believe that, so what would he do when he finally escaped? Three days ago, escape in itself seemed like a fanciful dream that was never going to come true, but sitting in sunny New Carthage with Richard made it seem more like an inevitability. He would get free one day, maybe even someday soon, and then what would he do? Maybe he'd have to hide out for a year or two, but eventually, he could get his life back. But then what would he do with it? Dick realised there was only one thing he wanted.

"I'd go back to the circus," Dick replied, his voice shaking just a tiny bit. Saying the words out loud felt like they would somehow summon a secret SWAT team that would spring from the bushes and descend from helicopters to grab him and drag him back to Bruce, and he would never be let go again. But nothing happened. The sun kept shining, and the boys kept rolling.

"I'm going back to the circus," Dick repeated. "It's the only thing I want to do." Maybe it was just an infantile attempt to recapture what he had lost, but when Dick thought of himself, an adult and part of a new, extended circus family, building on his father's repertoire and giving the best trapeze show anyone had ever seen, then he couldn't imagine any other possibility. The circus was who he was, who he _really_ was, without Gotham City, without Allen Bex Academy, without Wayne Manor and without Bruce Wayne.

"Will Wayne be okay with that?" Richard asked, unintentionally voicing the one thing Dick didn't want to hear.

Dick knew very well that Bruce would never just let him walk out, but he resolved that he wouldn't let that stop him. He was a person with power of his own, and Bruce Wayne couldn't do just whatever he wanted with him.

"I doesn't matter," Dick said. "I'm doing it anyway."

Richard laughed, but it wasn't an entirely happy sound. "Man, I wish I had your confidence. You sound like you have it all sorted out."

Dick looked at his friend, amazed. Richard wanted to be more like _him_? Richard thought _he_ was confident? That made him all the more determined not to let the blonde down. He _would_ escape Bruce.

"How about I come and watch you in ten years time, when you're lighting up the centre ring?" Richard proposed.

"And I'll come and watch you in five years time," Dick replied.

"What? I only get five years?"

"You've got a head start."

Richard broke his eye contact with Dick and looked down at his hands. "So you really think I should go for it? This competition in September?" he asked, his voice casual but his body language giving him away.

"You have to," Dick replied in all seriousness. He wouldn't give up on his freedom - he didn't want Richard to either.

Richard nodded then looked up at him, smiling that radiant grin that Dick hadn't seen all day. "Okay, Dick. But you'd better not let me down. I don't want to find you in a suit one day, firing people for stealing office supplies."

"Never." Dick was smiling, but he meant it.

"Good," Richard said, then pushed himself to his feet. "Come on, we should head back to the hotel if we don't want to be late," and he held out his hand for Dick.

OoO

The boys slipped through the revolving doors and into the hotel lobby, and Dick instantly felt shabby in his jeans, hoody and trainers, but he still felt more comfortable than he did in the suits Bruce made him wear sometimes.

Richard patted him on the back. "I've got to go check in with the teachers in the lounge, get the plan for tonight. You can go on up if you want," he said, starting to break away from Dick.

"No problem, I'll see you there. Got your key?"

The blonde pulled the shiny gold rectangle from his pocket and waved it as he walked away. Dick turned and began making his way towards the elevators, but his eye was caught by a stack of newspapers lying neatly on a low table amidst a circle of plush chairs and sofas.

_**Vigilante Rampage in Gotham.**_

Dick changed course and sat down on one of the seats, grabbing a paper towards him and flipping it open. It was a city paper from New Carthage, and it didn't look like one of the sensationalist tabloids that always exaggerated to sell copies. It looked pretty serious.

_**Vigilante Rampage in Gotham**_

_Last night, Gotham City reported dozens of attacks by the masked vigilante identified as "Batman". _

_Six men are in hospital today after the crazed Batman went on a crusade against crime, using excessive force to secure citizen's arrests against 32 men and women associated with organised crime. Two of his victims are in still in Intensive Care, and while medical staff state that they will likely survive, it is still uncertain whether they will ever fully recover. "I don't think they'll be hurting anybody else, Batman really went to town on him," one doctor told this reporter. "I can't really see that it was necessary, though. This guy's a nobody."_

_Starting before dusk, Gotham PD began finding the Batman's victims at the scenes of emergency calls. In a few cases, the crime they were there to investigate had been unrelated, such as a mugging or a robbery, but for the majority it was clear that Batman was the aggressor they had been sent to apprehend. The approximate figures given by GCPD are that twenty of the calls actually named Batman in person. "Usually he hides in the shadows and stays away from any innocent witnesses. Now it seems he just doesn't care anymore," says Commissioner Gordon. The remaining calls were made by citizens who heard the crimes take place but who were too afraid to investigate, reporting sounds of struggling and screams for help._

_One witness describes the attack as "brutal": "I'd never seen anything like it, man. Bats just came out of nowhere and destroyed this guy in the middle of the street. As far as I could see he hadn't been doing anything, but I guess he must have been working for somebody, huh? Anyway, Bats knocks him around a bit until he's good and bloody, and even when the guy's begging him to stop, Batman still just turns around and kicks his teeth in. He must have done something really evil to deserve that kind of treatment. It was brutal." _

_The victim described here is not one of those hospitalised, not having received the worst of Batman's rage. Instead, he was seen by a doctor and placed in custody after confessing to having been an accomplice in the bombing of the police station earlier this month. When asked why he confessed when there was no evidence against him, he claimed he was afraid that the Batman would continue to pursue him if he didn't. His testimony could lead to the prosecution of more of the Joker's men. _

_When asked what could have sparked this vicious rampage, Commissioner Gordon had this to say; "We all get frustrated sometimes. It seems Batman has reached the end of his tether. Regardless, these attacks are criminal acts, and we will be putting a warrant out for Batman's arrest."_

_But for many of Gotham's concerned citizens who are growing increasingly afraid to venture outside in case they are mistakenly targeted by this masked madman, an arrest warrant is simply not enough. Claims are being made that Commissioner Gordon is a Batman "sympathiser" and hence should be removed from office for dereliction of duty unless the vigilante is brought to justice soon._

Dick reached the end of the article and immediately reached for the other papers. They all carried the same story, just with different allegiances expressed between the lines. Yesterday night, Batman had apparently just flipped out. But why? Dick sat with a sour feeling in his gut. Was it true that he was just a crazy guy in a suit who needed to be locked up himself, if not in jail then the nuthouse? The boy had a horrible feeling, as if the lights had just dimmed and he was suddenly sitting in wet clothes. If Batman was crazy, just another criminal... If he wasn't a _hero_... Then Dick had nobody left to save him.

No, Dick didn't want to believe that. Thirty of the Joker's men were now in police custody, men who had hurt people, and probably would have hurt others in the future. Now Joker's power would be reduced, he would have to think twice before he tried anything. Batman had helped, hadn't he? He hadn't killed anyone, and Dick was sure that they must have done something to deserve being beaten like that. Maybe they had been armed, or resisted arrest, refused to surrender so Batman had been _forced_ to do it.

But why now? Maybe an attack was coming that only Batman knew about, and he had had to act fast without telling the police. Yeah... it was bound to be something like that. Batman wasn't crazy, he was too smart, and too skilled. Everyone else just didn't have the faith that Dick had.

"Aw, you didn't have to wait for me!" Richard cried as he walked back towards Dick, who looked up, oblivious. When Richard saw the younger boy's face, his smile dropped. "What's up?" he asked, concerned.

"Er..." Dick didn't know how to explain it, why this simple news story affected him so much. He gestured to the papers in his lap, and Richard twisted his body to read the various headlines.

"_Batman Goes Berserk_," he read slowly aloud, then flicked his worried eyes to Dick.

"Last night Batman arrested thirty people. He attacked them really harshly, in front of witnesses. Some of them are in the hospital," Dick told him in a small voice.

"Does it say why?" Richard asked, seating himself softly next to Dick, as if he was unsure how hurt the boy was by this.

"No, they don't really know. They were the Joker's men, so maybe in retaliation for the bomb at the police station, but... Why would he wait until now? It doesn't really make sense." Dick puzzled out loud. "Some people think he's snapped."

Richard put his hand on Dick's shoulder. "I'm sure that's not true..." he said, but Dick didn't think he sounded very convincing.

The boy looked across at his friend. Here he was, trying to comfort him again. _I need to pull myself together_, Dick thought to himself, _or I'm going to end up ruining this trip._ God, why did every little thing have to upset him? Why did he have to be so unstable all the time? He shouldn't care what was going on in Gotham, that place was hell for him. He should just focus on enjoying his time away while it lasted.

He forced a smile. "Yeah, you're probably right," he said. "Come on, we'd better get changed for dinner, and you always take forever in the bathroom."

Richard scoffed indignantly, "I do not!" he protested, standing up and following his junior to the elevators.

**Author's Note:** We apologise. That being said, we got some nice reviews asking us to continue, and some bitchy ones. No more bitchy ones, it doesn't help.

As for the casting, the suggestions were Austin Butler, Adam Raque, Alexander Ludwig, and Hunter Parrish. I still think Alex Pettyfer wins though. What do you think? Vote? And now let's cast our hero, who do you think should play Dick?


	34. The Boy Fights

Chapter 34

"But the entire point was that Hamlet was _supposed_ to take revenge," Richard argued, leaning against the doorjamb which seemed to glow with the hallway lights reflecting of the wallpaper as he waited for Dick to unlock the door.

"But they all died in the end," Dick argued back, frowning as he fiddled with the gold card and the door handle, trying to figure out why it wasn't working.

"Well, yeah, it's a tragedy."

"So revenge is bad, it just ends up taking out your whole family." Dick finally succeeded in getting the door to let them in, and the two boys gratefully slouched into the room. They were exhausted. _Hamlet_ had been a long play, and neither of them had slept well the night before. Now they just wanted to get out of their suits and crawl into bed, but for Richard at least that would have to wait, as he still had to make his rounds of the other students' rooms.

"I understood it as, no matter what the price, justice must be served," Richard continued, laying his watch on the bedside table with a clunk. Dick hadn't worn the watch Bruce had given him again, and instead just emptied his pockets before starting work on his tie.

"I don't think Hamlet felt that way at the end, I think he regretted ever starting it. I mean, his girlfriend is dead, his best friend is dead, their dad is dead, his mum is dead, okay, his stepdad is dead too but I think at the end he realised it would have been better to just settle down and try to live his life, instead of trying to right a wrong that was already way passed." Dick got the tie off and dropped it in his suitcase, then dumped his jacket on top.

"Yeah, maybe you're right..." Richard flopped onto the bed, making it shake. "How do we always end up talking about this stuff anyway?" he asked, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

"I don't know, why are you so pro-revenge?" Dick teased, sitting next to the prone boy and looking down at him as the senior lay still as a corpse, his eyes closed, and for a moment Dick wondered if he'd actually fallen asleep.

"I'm not pro-revenge," Richard mumbled sleepily without opening his eyes. "There's justice and then there's letting people get away with it."

"'It'? What's 'it'?"

"_It_, you know..." Richard made a slow circle with his hand in the air. "Crime. Evil. That stuff."

"Well, some people can't help 'it'," Dick argued, studying the dark shadows under the blonde's eyes.

"And that's wrong. I know not everyone's in a position where they can help themselves, but they should try. They shouldn't just dust off their hands and say 'Nothing I can do', marry Ophelia and let their uncle bang their mom," he replied, frowning slightly, eyes still closed.

Dick looked down at his friend and wondered what he would think if Dick told him the truth. With his eyes closed, half-asleep, it was almost as if Richard wouldn't hear him, and for the first time, Dick kind of wanted to try saying the words out loud.

_Bruce rapes me._

No, that was too harsh. Maybe not the whole truth then.

_Bruce beats me._

_Everyone thinks Bruce is this great guy... But he's not. Sometimes- Well, quite often really, he-_

"No, no, no." Richard said suddenly, his eyes snapping open, making Dick jump. "Can't fall asleep. Gotta get back to work. Come on, Rawn." And with that, he forced himself to sit up with a groan, dispelling the atmosphere Dick had felt just a moment ago. There was no way of telling him now.

"Do you want a hand?" Dick offered Richard's back as the older boy stood up.

He shook his head. "No can do. On the off chance I find something, I can't drag you into it. If there was actually a fight or a fire or something-"

"I'd be okay," Dick insisted. "I can handle myself."

Richard turned and smiled at him. "I'm sure you can, but orders is orders, pal. You just stay here and go to bed. You need it."

"You need it more than I do," Dick objected.

"That may be true, but the teachers don't care about me," he said. Then he seemed to notice Dick's stubborn expression and he smiled again and ruffled his junior's hair. "Tell you what, I'll see if can confiscate any soda or snacks then I'll come back and share it with you, 'kay?"

Dick didn't want to agree. He felt like he was being patronised - he wasn't a child that could be sent to bed or bribed with food – but the poor blonde just looked so exhausted that Dick forgave him. He would do whatever he could to make his friend's life easier, so he wouldn't argue with him now.

"Okay, but none of those pink coconut things, I hate those," he pouted, and Richard laughed.

"No coconut things, got it," he repeated, then moved towards the door. "I'll be back soon."

As soon as the door closed behind his friend, the emptiness of the room seemed to press in on Dick and he was suddenly very conscious of being alone. It was too quiet somehow. He thought about putting the TV on, but one look at the fish tank that hid the set and he decided against it. Too complicated. Instead he decided to keep himself busy by getting undressed, but that didn't take as long as he'd hoped. He took his toothbrush and other accessories into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, washed his face, combed his hair. Richard still hadn't come back so he leant against the marble counter and stared at his face in the mirror.

His eyes looked tired and squinty, but overall, he thought he looked pretty healthy. Not too thin, not too pale. The ghostly face of the abused boy he had seen looking back at him too many times was hidden beneath a thin and frail layer of what he realised might be happiness. Even his hair was no longer offensive to him. He ran his hand over it as a test, and found that he didn't mind it anymore. He smiled at the sheer levity of it all. How could he be happy? He thought he never would be again.

But then he corrected himself. How could he be happy? No matter how he tried to avoid it, he was going back to Gotham tomorrow. Cruel, grey Gotham. And there was no way out, he knew that. _As if_ the bus would leave without him; they'd probably evacuate the hotel to find him, call the police after ten minutes. And New Carthage was not so far away that Bruce's influence wouldn't reach. The Wayne heir would come to drag him home personally if he manage to escape the teachers.

Bruce... He pulled his T-shirt collar down and confirmed that the bite mark was still there, sitting on his skin like a brand, a little faded but still visible against his pallor. Tomorrow evening, Dick would be walking back through the doors of Wayne Manor, feeling them close behind him, probably with Alfred at his shoulder, forever guarding and confining him. And Bruce would appear, maybe at dinner, maybe at some late hour in the night, waking the boy up with a summons to the forbidden room. And maybe Bruce would try to be nice, ask him how the trip was, or maybe he would simply give him his orders, to strip or get on his knees...

Dick frowned and covered the bite mark again. Not this time. He thought about everything he and Richard had talked about in the past few days, about how people should defend themselves, about how it was wrong to let people hurt you. He didn't have to be a victim if he didn't want to be, he could fight. Richard didn't hate him, wasn't disgusted by him, there was nothing objectively tainted about him. He was still human. He could still fight. Every single time, he could fight. Yes, he'd slipped - it had been easier to just let it happen and get it over with without adding to his pain, but he now had a chance to redeem himself, put an end to it. And oh, imagine that, never being hurt that way again, to live free and happy away from Bruce and Alfred and the cameras and all the ghosts of Wayne Manor. Maybe he was being foolish but he had to try, didn't he? He couldn't give up, he didn't _want_ to give up...

He had hope.

With that realisation, Dick shivered. Hope. Hope was dangerous. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He flicked the lights off in the bathroom and walked over to the bed. He didn't want to sleep; he didn't want tomorrow to come, but he had nothing else to do and he yawned just thinking about staying up. He climbed under the covers and laid his head on the cold pillow, and was asleep in seconds.

OoO

Dick was still asleep when he became aware of a sound in the room. His eyes snapped open but he couldn't identify anything out of the ordinary in the shadows. Then he heard it again, a sudden peal of laughter from outside.

Dick sat up and looked at the clock. 2:19 AM. Everyone should be in bed and asleep. They couldn't be up and making noise in a hotel like this at this hour. He turned the other way and saw Richard lying next to him on top of the covers, still in his shirt and suit trousers as if he'd just walked in and collapsed on the bed. He even still had his shoes on. The poor boy looked comatose.

Dick's stomach twisted in confliction. If the students were awake and disturbing the other guests, that was exactly the sort of thing Richard was there to sort out, but Dick didn't want to wake him. But he couldn't just leave it either, if the teachers got complaints, Richard would be in trouble for not doing his job.

Dick slid gently out of bed, careful not to disturb his friend, and crept to the door. He would check it out himself, and if it was just people on the way back to their rooms, then okay. But if it was something more, and he couldn't resolve it himself, he would get Richard.

He eased to door open and looked out, blinking in the well-lit corridor. He couldn't see anybody, but he could hear a faint thrum of music. Quickly going back for his key card which he stuck in the waistband of his pants, Dick stepped out in the hall and let his door close behind him. His bare feet were silent as he snuck along the carpeted hall, following the music. When he found the room it was coming from, it was even louder than he had thought. Whoever was playing it was really dumb. He could also hear more voices and laughter from inside, way too many people for one room.

Dick frowned and knocked. Instantly there was a flurry of shushing and the music was turned way down. When the door was opened, Dick's heart sank, but he was not surprised.

"Who invited you, circus freak?" asked McTravis, leaning against the door cockily and looking at Dick as if he was dressed in sewage. Behind him, Dick could see four of McTravis' cronies spread throughout the room, and the out-of-place Andrew curled on his bed, balefully watching the exchange. Dick didn't miss the beer cans standing on every free surface either.

But Dick wouldn't let himself be angered, that was what the idiot wanted. "It's two AM, McTravis, you can't be having a party now," he said, trying hard not to sink to the older boy's level.

"There's no party in here," McTravis said in a sing-song voice that was probably supposed to sound innocent. "So why don't you just run off back to your room and stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" The boy tried to close the door, but Dick put up his hand and stopped it. McTravis' eyes narrowed. "You looking to start something, Grayson?" he growled.

"No," Dick replied calmly, though he couldn't help but meet the older boy's glare with his own. "I'm just saying that you're too loud, and you need to go to bed now. You'll be getting up in four hours, get some sleep."

McTravis looked behind him. "Nobody here wants to sleep, right?"

The four loitering thugs nodded and murmured in agreement, but Andrew's eyes continued to look at Dick as if something terrible would happen the moment he left.

"Doesn't look like that's true, Josh," Dick said, looking back at the redhead.

McTravis scowled over his shoulder at Andrew, who flinched and looked away. The older boy turned away from the door and started towards the boy on the bed. "Oh yes it is," he growled. "Somebody just needs to change his mind!"

As McTravis moved away from him, Dick grabbed his arm, and suddenly he was in the room with his enemy and his four friends. The door fell shut behind him, but he didn't take his hand away.

McTravis stopped dead as if a ghost had just touched him, and he looked down at Dick menacingly. Dick could feel McTravis try to pull his arm away but he held on. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, but as Dick looked up at the older, larger boy, he was not afraid. Sure, he was taller than him, heavier than him, and if the bicep Dick was currently restraining was anything to go by, stronger than him too, but Bruce could use McTravis as a toothpick. Nothing the junior could dish out would be worse than what Dick had already been through. It would be a walk in the park.

"Get your hands off me, sideshow," the redhead threatened.

"Leave Andrew alone," Dick replied in a steady voice. He was still calm, watching for the critical moment when he would have to move, if McTravis decided to attack him. He didn't know why he wanted to protect Andrew, probably just because the boy looked like he thought he _could_, but a part of him also recognised that he was kind of hoping McTravis would take a swing at him. He wanted to take a swing at McTravis, who had tormented him for months for no reason. For lack of a better word, he wanted to inflict pain on the older boy, damage his arrogant face – he wanted revenge.

"Dick, it's okay, you don't have to..." Andrew spoke from the bed, concern making his voice whiny, but his expression said that he was awed and amazed that anyone would stand up for him, and that just made Dick want to do it even more.

A couple of the boys standing by the wall exchanged glances, and Dick knew what they were thinking. Dick was Bruce Wayne's ward. Attacking him would be extremely stupid, business suicide. In any other situation, they would be expected to jump in and team up with McTravis to show whoever it was what was what, but Dick was different. He was outside of the rules. He wasn't Bruce's blood, but he had been chosen by him, and he might take over Wayne Enterprises one day. If he chose to, he could destroy their families and make sure none of them ever got a job anywhere other than cleaning toilets. But McTravis didn't seem to be thinking about these things. Dick smirked to himself, it looked like it was going to be a fair fight.

McTravis turned slowly back to face him, and Dick let his arm go. He wanted his hands free, and room to manoeuvre, and it looked like the redhead had forgotten about Andrew for now.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," McTravis said, and he rubbed his fist into his palm.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Dick said, but he didn't back away or try to look inoffensive. He kept his posture straight and his hands loose by his sides, ready to move if he had to.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Grayson? I mean, what are you even doing here?" McTravis stood very close to Dick, looking down at him with contempt twisting his features. Dick imagined that this act had sent plenty of freshman cowering away from him, but not Dick. He was sick of McTravis' attitude. Someone had to stand up to injustice, right? Protect the weak? Wasn't that the point? "You're not one of us, you don't deserve to be here, you're just gypsy trash," McTravis continued.

Dick listened coldly. What the redhead was saying was nothing new, he'd felt it all before on his own, without being told. It didn't affect him anymore; he didn't want to belong with the stuck up, deluded, spoilt brats that populated Allen Bex, who didn't know anything about the real world and probably never would.

"You just fell into money, you don't know what to do with it. You were just fucking lucky that Wayne felt sorry for you and adopted you as his little pet-"

Dick froze.

"-His little _toy_-"

"Shut up, McTracvis," Dick half-gasped out of gritted teeth, his eyes burning with raw fury and desire to hurt, but a cold sweat of terror chilled his back and made his palms slick.

McTravis smirked, a corner of his mouth pulling up and revealing perfectly straight teeth that probably cost a lot in orthodontist bills. "Oh, did I hit a nerve?" he gloated. "You don't like that? You don't want me to remind you that without Wayne, you're nothing, just a pathetic little orphan, whose cute little face got a pervert old billionaire to adopt him to be his fucktoy-"

Dick felt an involuntary twitch but he couldn't have said where it came from, maybe his face, maybe his arm, or his chest, or maybe it was just some escaped emotion surfacing behind his eyes, but McTravis gasped and jerked back slightly. His smirk evolved into a real smile, like a sadistic kid torturing ants with a magnifying glass who'd just unwrapped an atom bomb. Dick felt a chunk of ice slide down his throat and he held his breath, subconsciously shifting his weight.

"Oh my god," McTravis said, almost sounding happy. "It's true, isn't it? You're fucking him, aren't you? I bet you get down on your knees and suck his cock like a little whore, I bet you moan real good. You _enjoy_ taking it up the ass, don't you? Don't you, you little-"

Dick only realised he'd hit McTravis after he'd done it, when the older boy was stumbling away from him, clutching his jaw, and Dick's tense nerves slowly let him feel the stinging of his knuckles. His panting was loud in his ears and he realised he must look crazed, but he felt crazed so he didn't care. McTravis' cronies looked startled and flattened themselves against the wall, trying to stay out of it. Andrew looked back and forth between them, then stumbled off the bed and hurried out of the room. Dick didn't care about that either, he didn't care about anything other than tearing McTravis apart.

How could someone he hated so much, who tried so much to hurt him, have figured out the truth? How could McTravis, his enemy, know the secret too big to tell, when he had fought so hard to conceal it from Richard, the only and best friend he'd ever had? It was just so wrong. How could it be so wrong? Why? In that moment, Dick had the crazy idea that Bruce and the junior in front of him were somehow in it together, connected in some plan to torture him. He couldn't hurt Bruce, he knew that, but he could hurt McTravis.

"Get up," he ordered.

McTravis took his hand from his jaw, his eyes narrowed, and stood up. For a second, Dick watched him, adrenaline making him feel like he could move at the speed of light. Then McTravis lunged at him.

Dick went low, headbutting McTravis in the chest and trying to punch him in the stomach, but the blow glanced off the older boy's side and failed to knock the breath out of him. McTravis seized the back of Dick's shirt and pulled him away like a puppy, and Dick screwed up his eyes against the punch he saw coming but couldn't dodge. The blow hit him in the face with a force that snapped his head back and completely stunned him. McTravis dropped him onto the carpet at his feet with pride, and Dick's sense of the world came back to him slowly, accompanied by a sharp ache in his skull around his temple and eye socket where he'd been hit. He blinked hard, but his left eye wasn't seeing straight. He looked back up at McTravis, scowling, knowing that he didn't have time to lie on the floor and wait for his vision to return. This wasn't one of those one-punch corrective fights that bullies use to teach you a quick lesson - this was the culmination of months of antagonism, this was winner take all.

The older boy seemed to be enjoying watching Dick on the floor at his feet, but the younger boy knew he would react as soon as Dick tried to get up, so he took advantage of McTravis' complacency and kicked out at his ankle hard with the sole of his foot, making his opponent collapse to his knee with a cry. Dick launched himself at him, knocking the junior to the floor, hitting him repeatedly in the face while kneeling on his stomach. He prepared to slam his elbow into the boy's cheek, hopefully loosening a couple of those straight teeth, but McTravis rolled and Dick was soon being similarly crushed, the much older boy almost suffocating him with his weight. McTravis grabbed his throat and began choking him, struggling onto his knees as Dick pulled at his hands.

McTravis looked frenzied, his curly hair falling into his face as his blue eyes blazed above his flushed cheeks. Dick wondered for a brief instant what he had ever done to make the boy hate him so much, but the feeling was mutual.

"You're finished, fag," he spat, his grip tightening as he straddled the struggling Dick.

Dick was flailing, trying to push the older boy off him by pushing with his legs against the floor. He was starting to see little white spots spinning in front of him as McTravis' friends came nervously closer, one of them with a hand outreached as if he would tap their leader on the shoulder but was afraid to touch him. "Hey, Josh, man... It's enough already..." they whined, clearly afraid of what the consequences would be of killing Bruce Wayne's "little toy".

Dick was losing strength. Would Josh really kill him? It was starting to look that way, the boy was out of control. It was kind of funny, and when he thought about it, he realised he'd expected Bruce to be the one to do the deed when Dick did the wrong thing at the wrong time. Dick had expected to join the ghosts at Wayne Manor, but now it looked like he would never see those prison walls again. So why did his short nails still carve trenches in McTravis' skin while his bare feet burned themselves on the carpet trying to free himself?

As his vision narrowed into a dark tunnel, a patch of blonde suddenly appeared and Dick was jerked up as McTravis was pulled off him without relinquishing his hold. Dick heard the sudden dull smack of a fist hitting flesh and his airways opened as his head bounced back onto the floor. He rolled onto his side, gasping and heaving, feeling like he was inhaling needles.

"You fucker, he's half your size! I always knew you were a-"

"Fuck you, Rawn! This is none of your fucking business!"

"Hey, hey, it's enough, man, he's let him go, kid's fine, see?"

"Yeah man, calm down!"

"Your little cocksucking boyfriend started it, shithead!"

There were sounds of a struggle, like Richard had gone for McTravis again and his lackies had stepped in to hold him back. Dick opened his eyes and quickly got to his feet, one hand on his sore neck, panting. Seeing him, Richard turned away from McTravis who was lying sprawled on Andrew's bed, glaring at them both. Richard grabbed Dick roughly and pulled him behind him, keeping one eye on McTravis.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dick stated defiantly, taking his hand away from his throat. He saw Andrew standing wide-eyed and pale by the door. He must have gone for Richard as soon as Dick threw the first punch.

Richard looked at one of McTravis' friends. "Go get the teachers," he ordered. The boy hesitated, glancing at his fallen leader on the bed, obviously unsure where to place his allegiance. But when Richard snapped at him "Do it!" he went. McTravis had attacked Bruce Wayne's protégé; it was time to abandon the sinking ship.

"This isn't over," growled McTravis, shifting into a sitting position on the bed, and pushing his hair out of his face, trying to tidy himself up before the higher powers arrived. Dick noticed for the first time that he had blood in the corner of his mouth.

"Oh yes it is, Josh," Richard contradicted him, his voice firm. "Or you'll have me to deal with."

McTravis scoffed, but he didn't say anything further, turning his face to the wall. The shame of losing was apparently creeping up on him, and he wasn't prepared to go against the popular senior who also happened to be captain of an award-winning sports team and the pet of half the teaching staff.

They stayed like that, Richard planted firmly between Dick and McTravis, a furious silence bouncing between the three of them, until Mr Luca appeared, his brown hair mussed and wearing a dark T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, with the embarrassed junior standing awkwardly behind him.

"What's going on here?" he asked crossly. His eyes flicked over the faces in the room one by one. "Richard?"

"McTravis attacked Dick," the senior answered.

"What? No way, he attacked me, I-"

"Yeah right, Josh! We all know you have it in for him!"

"He started it, Rawn, just because he's a little queer-"

"Quiet!" Mr Luca looked to Dick. "Mr Grayson, care to tell me what happened?"

Dick thought about it. The teacher hadn't seen the fight, nor had Richard. He could lie about it. He didn't think either Andrew or McTravis' cronies would contradict him, whether it was because they liked him, hated McTravis, or were just afraid of Bruce. If he said the junior had started the fight, he would probably be believed, and the consequences would be worse for the bully. But no. That was something the redhead would do, the kind of thing his father hated. And what could they really do to him, send him home? In less than ten hours he would be on the bus anyway, and nothing could be worse than what was already waiting for him in the city.

"I started it," Dick admitted, tilting his chin up proudly, even though his eye was still throbbing and his throat itched.

"He was defending me!" Andrew cried, stepping forward nervously. "McTravis has been picking on me the whole trip, and Dick stopped him!" The boy's glanced at Dick self-consciously.

"Is that true?" Mr Luca asked Dick, who shrugged in response. Mr Luca sighed. "Alright McTravis, you're spending the rest of the night in my room, and I want to talk to your parents when we get back to Gotham tomorrow. Come on," Mr Luca ordered, and held out an arm to steer McTravis out. The redhead got petulantly to his feet and slouched out of the room. "Everyone get back to bed. I don't want any more trouble tonight," he said, before leaving with McTravis.

The other two juniors quickly disappeared, leaving Richard and Dick in what was now Andrew's room.

"Thanks for stepping in, Dick," Andrew said, looking at the floor awkwardly.

"No problem," Dick answered, feeling a little uncomfortable that the boy now saw him as some sort of hero, when his fight with McTravis probably would have happened even without the excuse of protecting someone else.

"I should have stood up to him sooner, then you wouldn't have got hurt," Andrew continued.

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine," Dick consoled him, and indeed, he could see and breathe properly, even if he was still sore in patches.

"I wish I was like you..." Andrew said sadly, making Dick uncomfortable. He didn't really want the other boy as a fan. But then Andrew yawned and Dick made his escape.

"You're tired, we should let you get some rest," he said, hustling Richard to the door.

"Ok. Thanks again," Andrew said as he watched them leave, but Dick didn't look back.

As the door closed behind him, he began to feel the tide of adrenalin pull pack, and he suddenly grew cold. Richard threw his arm around his shoulder and pulled the freshman to him roughly as they started walking back to their room at the end of the corridor. His fingers were tightly clenching him, nervous.

"What the hell was that, huh hero? Why didn't you wake me up? Scared me half to death when Andrew told me you and McTravis were fighting. You should have let me handle him, I told you it's my job," he chastised with unconvincing light-heartedness.

"You were so tired… I didn't want to wake you up in case it was nothing," Dick answered, fishing under his T-shirt for the gold key card he had stuck in his waistband when they reached the door to their room. He was amazed to find it still there after rolling on the floor with McTravis, imbedded in his skin.

As they walked inside, Richard continued. "I have to admit, I'm kind of relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. If McTravis was the one hurting you, you should have just told me, instead of hiding it." He kicked off shoes and pulled off his shirt, undressing for bed while Dick hovered awkwardly by the bathroom, not really wanting to watch that but not wanting to be rude either.

He didn't want to have this conversation. He understood the mistake Richard had made. The senior thought the bruises he had been seeing on Dick for weeks were all from McTravis, that the bully had been hassling him at school as well, and Dick wasn't going to correct him. He had thought for a moment earlier that night that he wanted Richard to know the truth, but the memory of McTravis figuring it out twisted like a venomous snake in his gut. He would prefer it if nobody knew.

"I mean, I thought... Well, it doesn't matter what I thought, I was wrong, and I'm glad," Richard said, climbing into the bed, and running a hand over his face. He looked up at Dick with upset eyes. "If he bothers you again, do you promise to come to me? I can take care of it, really."

"Yeah, ok," Dick answered non-commitally.

"Dick" Richard said and there was something in his eyes that he couldn't place.

"I will" the boy assured him.

"Good," Richard mumbled and then opened his mouth, as if to say something else but changed his mind at the last minute, breaking the eye contact. He turned his face into the pillow and Dick took that as a chance to slip into the bathroom and end the conversation. Running the tap, he washed his face with the cold water, and when his eye hurt when he dried his face with the soft cotton towel, a bad feeling come over him. Looking at it in the mirror, he could already see a red shadow like a graze under his skin, and a small swelling. Tomorrow, it would be way more noticeable. What was he going to tell Bruce? How would the billionaire react?

And what was he going to do about McTravis?

The bully knew the truth, and he would spread it around as much as he could. Most people wouldn't believe it, but all it would take would be one person, the wrong person, and his life would become a media circus. Most people would never believe that Bruce Wayne was like that, or they would be too afraid to do anything about it, but if just one teacher looked too closely, or if one student decided to sell the story if they hated him that much, or if they just wanted a new car without asking Daddy for it, then Dick would have a lot of explaining to do. Oh, Bruce wouldn't be affected. He could make it all go away without breaking a sweat. But within the walls of Wayne Manor, he would want to know where the story had come from, why people were asking questions...

The Academy had started to become bearable, now it was going to be worse than ever, and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it. If he could just make McTravis disappear! Silence him somehow, so that Dick's life could go on as it was.

Dick flicked off the light and went to bed. His body hurt and his stomach churned. What would he do, what would he do? It was like waiting for a bomb to go off. The secret was out, and it was probably only a matter of hours before the bully's mouth opened to spread it further. First the people on the bus, then everyone at school, their families, their families co-workers, and all of Gotham, like a plague. He was about to become famous all over again.

Dick lay on his side, his back to Richard, chewing his lip and unable to close his eyes. He didn't sleep again that night.

**Author's note:** How's _that_ for action, kiddies? Some serious shit is going down pretty soon, we're looking forward to it... And next chapter, Dick returns to Gotham, and we get to see Bruce again! Yay? The trip is over, did you like it? I know we had some troubles...

For the casting, my favourites for Dick were Tom Sturridge and Drew Roy, but it's not final yet, so feel free to keep suggesting. And for this chapter, who's your Bruce?


	35. Welcome Home, Boy

**Author's Note:** Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas, one and all! We have a special present for you at the end of the chapter, courtesy of AmberSpirit! Dick finally returns to Gotham in the chapter, what will Bruce do? Who knows? Read and enjoy!

**Chapter 35:** Welcome home, Boy

By the time the alarm clock announced 5 AM, Dick had already come up with four possible scenarios for his return to Wayne Manor.

One: driver picks him up, Dick arrives and is welcomed by Alfred. Bruce isn't home and Dick has a quiet dinner by himself, retiring to his bed early to catch up on his sleep. He gets woken up by Alfred to meet Bruce in the forbidden room.

Two: driver picks him up, Dick arrives and realizes that Bruce is home. He has an awkward dinner with his guardian which he has to lie his way through and fails miserably. Bruce finds out about Richard, and punishes him for lying.

Three: nobody is waiting at the car park. They forgot about him. He calls Alfred and eventually gets picked up and treated as if he was air. Bruce is gone and Dick ends up seeing him sometime in the next few days; the billionaire having barely realized he was gone.

Four: driver picks him up but he escapes. After endless hours of wondering he gets caught by one of Bruce's bodyguards and dragged back to the manor. Bruce punishes him harshly.

These were the four options he'd thought of by 5 AM. Over the next few hours, he thought of more.

He toyed with all the different variations of his reunion with Bruce throughout the early hours of the morning. The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt; the darkness of the room pressing down on him as he imagined all the different outcomes, all the different things his guardian could say, all the ways he could hurt him. Above all he wanted to protect Richard and he knew that he had to be very careful in order not to reveal his friend's presence on the trip. If Bruce found out that Richard had been accompanying him, that they had shared a _bed_… he didn't really know how the man would react. Bruce didn't seem to like the senior and something told him - something purely instinctive, a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach - that he needed to shield Richard from Bruce's attention at all costs.

Furthermore there was the issue of McTravis and what he knew and Dick felt sick with worry just thinking about it. What if Bruce thought that it all came from Dick? That he blabbed it freely during the trip, betraying their unspoken code of silence, the victim taking revenge on his abuser. As if Dick would ever want to punish Bruce that way; by revealing the secret he would bring himself down in the process and he absolutely didn't want anyone to know the ugly truth. Not anymore. Bruce would make his life a living hell, a complete _nightmare_, if this all came out. Dick had a hard time imagining how his life could get any worse but he knew that his guardian had the power to drag him even lower, to the depths of Hell itself.

As the seconds ticked by Dick became trapped in an illusion of complete paralysis, his plans becoming more far-fetched in their desperation. He would simply refuse to leave the bed, refuse to leave the hotel, leave the city. He wouldn't step inside the bus even if they tried to physically drag him in. He would run away; how could Bruce find him anyway? If he ran far enough, if he was fast enough…

But no, even in his despair Dick knew that he would never be able to make it. He had no experience with living on the streets of a big city, and he didn't know anything about New Carthage. Bruce had money, people at his disposal that could comb the entire town in a matter of hours. Dick was a prey that would be caught far too quickly.

6 AM. Dick rolled onto his other side, his tense body curled in a foetal position. He was so stressed it felt like he was about to throw up any minute. He wanted to fall asleep, if only for a minute, so that he could escape all these terrible thoughts and what awaited him behind the doors of Wayne Manor. Both his body and his mind were exhausted and he started to drift in and out of sleep, his dreams strange and deformed in the most subtle of ways. The next time he opened his eyes it wasn't to the sound of alarm clock, but to the feel of an unfamiliar hand shaking him gently out of sleep.

He recognized the face of his friend, leaning over him with curious blue eyes.

"Dick?"

"I'm … uh up," the boy mumbled sleepily, sitting up with a vague feeling of disorientation. The clock next to the bed said it was 8:09. He overslept?

"I let you sleep through breakfast. You looked like you needed it." Richard sat down on the bed, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. "Arranged to get some food up here for you though. They've got a really neat room service and this bedroom has all expenses paid apparently."

Dick followed the direction of his friend's gaze and saw a tray of what looked like a portion for three people, bacon and toast being the most prominent. He looked away with an unconscious grimace.

"It's fine, I'm not really hungry."

In fact, he felt like he would throw up if he tried swallowing anything right now. Dick rubbed at his face, feeling a dull ache on his right eye. Richard's expression was telling him that the wound was quite visible. His friend's worried face immediately formed into a smile when he noticed Dick's silence and he patted him on the shoulder.

"The first rule of Fight Club: you do not talk about Fight club," he stated with a smirk and stood up, moving across the room.

"What?"

"The movie we were watching on the bus…? You really need to see it," Richard responded, shaking his head indulgently, and Dick assumed it must have been a reference to his black eye that he didn't get. He stood up, walking in the direction of the bathroom to check out the bruise for himself.

"I figured you wouldn't want to show off your battle wounds at breakfast. I'm sure the teachers are gonna have a heart attack when they see you in the lobby anyway."

"Did you see McTravis?" Dick asked nervously, thinking of what the bully knew and the damage he could inflict. He stood in front of the mirror, eyeing his face critically.

"Oh I saw him alright," Richard replied from the bedroom. "His face is pretty busted too. I'm actually surprised somebody of your stature could give a swing like that. You ever punched anybody before?"

"No," Dick replied, thinking back on his pathetic tries at causing damage to his guardian's enormous form.

"Hm. A natural then."

The black eye wasn't so bad despite its undeniable visibility. His eyelid wasn't swollen but the dark colouring was definitely there; painting his skin an angry red that bordered on purple near his eye socket. He touched the wound slightly, gauging the sensitivity of it.

"When do we leave?" he asked, feeling the dread creep up again as his worries caught up with him. He walked back to the bedroom and saw Richard flipping the TV channels mindlessly, the sound on mute.

"We've got an hour to pack. Meeting is at 9:00 downstairs in the lobby."

The words were like a death sentence, left to ominously hang over his head. Dick returned to the bathroom, this time silently closing the door behind him.

The ride back to Gotham was slow and torturous. He could barely stay still; his leg moving up and down in a nervous twitching motion as he mentally tried to prepare himself for his return to the manor, back to the den of the monster.

He couldn't help craning his head to constantly check on McTravis' group in the back, his eyes fixated on the boy's mouth as he talked. Was he talking about him? Did people believe him? The group didn't look any different than usual but Dick became overcome by a sense of hopelessness as he watched them talk; the ugly truth was leaking out like a cup overflowing with water, dripping down his fingers as he desperately tried to keep it from coming out.

Nobody would believe him. Everybody knew that McTravis had been sprouting shit about him from the moment he arrived at the Academy. He had tried to _kill_ him last night. If anything, that was the proof of how far McTravis was willing to go to get rid of him. He was crazy and consumed by his own jealousy and feeling of inferiority - surely everybody else understood that.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Dick's head snapped to look at Richard who was sitting next to him with an impatient expression, his eyes searching his face. Dick was overcome by a strong urge to shout at him; No he wasn't listening to him, how the hell did he expect him to concentrate on _anything_ at all when he was only a few hours away from returning to that hellhole!

He regretted the thought instantly and tried to calm his nerves as he swallowed and looked away from Richard's gaze.

There was a sudden touch on his moving thigh.

"Stop that," Richard said, his voice far from domineering but Dick jerked away anyway, a being of instincts that learned time and time again: human touch leads to a path of pain. 'Stop that' was usually followed by a punch or a twist that would _make_ him stop.

He looked up at his friend, eyes wide. Richard must have wanted him to stop twitching; but he couldn't help it, he was so nervous.

"Sorry, I guess I just don't feel too good."

Richard's expression immediately changed and he shot a glance to the front of the bus and back at him.

"The teachers have some pills for car sickness if you want…" he trailed off and then added "You haven't eaten anything the whole day."

Dick was surprised to realize that was true; he only drank some water earlier from the tap in their bathroom and if he threw up now it would probably just be his saliva. He shrugged as an answer, not really knowing what Richard wanted him to say. The senior next to him looked irritated as well but Dick assumed he had different reasons than their return to Gotham.

"It's alright, don't worry about it," Dick replied in the end and turned towards the windows, the bright sun illuminating his face and hurting his eyes as he peered at the moving road. A sudden thought entered his head: what was Alfred doing right now? Did the seemingly detached butler miss him? Was he going to pick him up himself? Probably not. Alfred hated him and everything having to do with Dick was simply a professional courtesy. The boy was sure Alfred wouldn't even talk to him if he wasn't required to. It made him feel worthless for some reason; maybe because there was a time when he thought of the old man as his friend.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

He remembered his first day in the manor and the way Alfred's eyes softened when they looked at him, kind and respectful. He used to trust the older man back then.

'_It is the least we can do. We want you to be happy here, Master Dick.'_

If only his past self knew what he knew now.

'_Let us do what we can, while we learn what we should do.'_

You should have helped me!

The boy leaned against the window, blocking the rays of sun with his hand as he glared angrily at the road. The butler's indifference was harsh but Dick still preferred it to Bruce's fake affection. Sometimes he even entertained himself with the idea that Alfred truly liked him and wanted to help him but he too was under Bruce's terrible spell and was too afraid to disobey his master. The boy would pretend and sometimes even joke with the butler, trying to get past the professional calmness, trying to get him to respond. He needed an ally in the house so desperately but no matter how far in denial he was, he knew that one order from Bruce and Alfred would throw him to the wolves. It made him feel hopeless so he stopped trying, but sometimes he couldn't help himself; whether he was teasing, joking, being nice or mean, he needed Alfred's presence in the manor because without him there would be only Bruce, and that would fuck with his mind so badly. He wouldn't even have any kind of reference level anymore.

Maybe he wouldn't feel so terrible if Alfred loved him. Maybe these next four years until he was eighteen would even be bearable if he knew there was someone that cared about him, someone that loved him despite what he went through.

He told himself that he would hate Alfred, regardless of what the man felt for him - the man had betrayed him, given him up... Even if he changed his attitude now, so late in the game it wouldn't change anything, Dick would never love him. How could he forgive him for seeing what was happening day after day and doing nothing to stop it?

Except he knew that was a lie.

If Alfred started to care for him and love him, show him affection with a simple pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile… All it would take was one bad day, one sleepless night, one moment of weakness and Dick would shamelessly beg for more, starved for any kind of positive acknowledgment. Perhaps he would make some sort of an excuse for the butler, deny everything that happened just so he could live in his little make believe.

God, he was so weak, it made him sick.

"You know… I'm not really looking forward to going home either." Dick turned his head, surprised that Richard has spoken again. The boy was fiddling with the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt; they were expensive looking and gleaming in the sunlight coming from the windows.

The senior obviously expected him to respond and Dick decided to steer the conversation into a safe territory where he could afford the luxury of honesty.

"Yeah I know," he sighed. "I had fun. I've never been on a trip like this before and I didn't expect to... enjoy myself as much as I have," he clumsily added and Richard responded with smile, settling into his seat more comfortably.

"Hm." Richard made a noise of agreement, sounding tired, and looked away from Dick. The boy thought maybe Richard had noticed his evasion and was now annoyed, but then he took out his mobile phone, his thumb moving across the lit up screen. Dick noticed that his wallpaper was a picture of a little girl, perhaps around 5 years of age with short blonde hair and a blue dress. It was an amateur photo; she seemed to be sitting behind a table in what looked like a kitchen and was holding out her hands in an exaggerated pose of thumbs up. Dick thought she looked similar to Richard but he hadn't mentioned any sisters… his niece perhaps?

However the senior started writing a message and the wallpaper disappeared. Dick looked away, not wanting to eavesdrop and be caught reading Richard's message over his shoulder.

"Good thing you were in this class. I usually just end up talking to the teachers on these things so it was great to have a friend to hang out with."

The teen said it so casually but Dick was nearly glowing with pride; a friend, he said a _friend_. Hadn't Richard called him that before? Dick couldn't remember but for some reason the word made him feel like he was worth something, like he had a definite physical connection with somebody outside of the manor.

Richard thought of him as a friend.

The boy bit the inside of his cheek to avoid grinning like an idiot.

"You're just saying that because otherwise you would have been forced to share a room with ," he responded teasingly and Richard let out a snort, sending his message.

"Hey, I would have you know that Mr L is an attractive individual despite his age. I totally had to sacrifice _all that_ for rooming with you, circus boy."

Now it was Dick's time to laugh and he shook his head, chuckling softly. He was about to respond with another joke when his friend turned to him, cutting him off casually.

"Hey, have you sent a message home yet? Our bus is early, you know."

And just like that, the friendly atmosphere disappeared as if wiped away by a magic trick and Dick's eyes widened, his body tense.

"We're early?"

"Yeah, don't you recognize the streets? We're already in Gotham," Richard explained and leaned over him to point at the window. Dick followed his gaze, eyeing the familiar mismatched architecture, the dark skyscrapers looming in the distance like the pillars of a vast castle.

"We'll be there in about 20 minutes," the blonde announced, pocketing his own phone and staring at him expectedly. "So just text your… um…" he trailed of, suddenly unsure of his words. "…whoever is going to pick you up."

Dick unwillingly reached into his bag, feeling the dread settle over him like thick mud. In twenty minutes he would be forced to return back to his cage. He was aware of every single second, ticking past. The watch on his wrist felt heavy and useless as he touched it through the fabric of his jacket.

He activated the screen, his phone flashing briefly before he clumsily clicked on the message option, still unfamiliar with the device. It took him some time to compose the short message: '_Bus is early. Will be back in 15minutes,_' before he clicked on his phonebook, staring blankly at the short selection of numbers.

Should he send it to Alfred? Would he be the one to pick him up? If it was one of the drivers, Bruce would be the logical choice since they answered to him (at least Dick assumed they did) but something inside of him rebelled at the idea of contacting his guardian directly. Perhaps he was just trying to postpone the inevitable; maybe if he didn't let Bruce know, the man would forget about him?

As if.

He decided to send the message to Alfred and clicked at the glowing name, staring at his phone with his stomach twisting in knots, as if waiting for it to leak acid all over his hand.

Barely a minute had passed before he got a reply and Dick fumbled with his phone to read the answer with wide eyes. The text was from Bruce, which made him double check his Sent folder. No, he had sent the message to Alfred, so why was Bruce the one who answered? They must be in the manor together, Dick realized with dread.

The feeling only intensified when he read the actual content of the message.

_I will pick you up._

What? Bruce himself was coming? Dick hadn't thought of that and his chest tightened with panic as he realized that the man would see Richard, he would see that the senior has been with him and he must prevent that somehow, they can't meet again, he has to do something-

"Wayne's picking you up?" Richard asked casually, peering over his shoulder and Dick immediately lowered his phone, slipping it into the bag. He knew he looked suspicious and immediately tried to keep his expression normal.

"Yeah. Guess he has some free time," he answered nervously, suddenly conscious of his black eye. He lifted a hand to touch it gently as he thought about Bruce's reaction to it. The man hit him all the time; surely a small bruise like this shouldn't be a problem, right? But his guardian had always been careful to avoid his ward's face, at least during term time. He turned his gaze to the back of the bus, staring at McTravis' profile as he laughed with his friends. And what if McTravis starts something while Bruce is there? What if he says something?

Fuck fuck fuck!

Richard was saying something, his tone friendly, but Dick completely spaced out, nodding occasionally to keep the boy going while in the privacy of his mind everything was falling apart. There were too many things to consider and he started to panic, feeling like a man that was trying to save his boat after somebody had shot holes through the bottom. It was a hopeless feeling, a certain dark fear that overwhelmed him completely.

Before he knew what was happening, the bus was slowing down and when he peeked out of the window he recognized the parking lot from three days ago. It was half empty with about six cars or so already parked inside and Dick saw some figures standing by, conversing in the distance. As they got closer his eyes immediately focused on Bruce; his instinct, like a sixth sense, allowing him to find the threat within the small crowd, but it wasn't hard. The Prince of Gotham was easily the youngest adult there, and he was commanding all attention, standing in a circle of the other parents, completely at ease. The others were mostly men, and Dick wondered whether that was a coincidence, whether they had hoped they would find his guardian waiting. There was an unspoken hierarchy that made Dick nervous as he observed through the window, Bruce was laughing and saying something to the rest of the waiting parents but it was a condescending gesture that the men no doubt recognized.

Suddenly the bus stopped and the eyes of the small crowd turned towards them, parents trying to find the faces of their children. Dick immediately looked away from the window, feeling his heartbeat quickening. The sensation of sickness was paralyzing and he breathed quietly for a while. When he turned his head he saw that Richard was gone, already at the front of the bus and talking with one of the teachers. He left his jacket and sunglasses at the seat and Dick stared at them with wide eyes.

Sunglasses. Yes.

First things first; he had to hide the black eye. At least temporarily. The boy clumsily grasped the designer glasses, his hands sweaty as his face burned with shame. He didn't want to steal from his friend but what could he say? There was no _normal_ way to explain this and Dick needed to get out of the parking lot quickly, before Bruce recognized Richard and something -_something unknown and terrible and earth shattering, oh I don't know _- would happen. He could answer Bruce's questions later, in the privacy of the car or manor. He would deal with that when it came.

His classmates were already on their feet, moving in a slow row and Dick pushed at them to get a head start. He slowed his steps when he passed Richard but the blonde didn't seem to notice; he was talking to Mr. Luca and probably still thought Dick was in his seat. He ducked his head and walked out of the bus, immediately putting on the stolen sunglasses, feeling like the scum of the earth.

What awaited him was a scene of instant motion; boys walking towards the expensive cars, being welcomed by their fathers, a pat on a shoulder here, a handshake there. Most of the luggage was already laid out and Dick jerkily grasped his own, wheeling it off as fast as he could in the direction of his guardian. He didn't risk a last look at the bus in case he met Richard's eye and then had to explain himself later at school.

Bruce in front of him was an expertly presented lie; he was wearing one of his more casual suits, without a tie this time, and his eyes looked very blue in the pale light of the cold afternoon. He was smiling at him with a charming expression that Dick recognized was his playboy mask he showed the media. The boy resented it but thankfully the sunglasses hid his true feelings and he continued to walk forward, his steps getting slower and more uncertain the closer he drew. His legs shook with the urge to turn and run the other way.

As if sensing this, Bruce moved away from the men and walked over to meet him halfway. His smile looked almost genuine. Dick lowered his face when he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Welcome back, Dick," the man said, guiding him along as if he was his prisoner. The boy's throat was dry as he attempted a greeting of his own.

"Hey."

Somehow the man had managed to transfer Dick's suitcase to his own hands, effortlessly holding it up without the use of the wheels. His grasp on the boy's shoulder was tight and possessive and Dick nearly wept at the terrible familiarity of it all. It was like nothing had changed. He was staring forward, his gaze blank beneath the sunglasses and he noticed a sleek sports car parked right in front of them. It must have been a new one; Dick didn't recognize it. That fact alone made Dick's conscience contract in anger. Bruce Wayne bought cars like candy bars.

Its shiny silver paint was reflecting the sunlight and before he knew what was happening, he was sitting inside, Bruce lifting the suitcase into the miniscule trunk.

"Did you have fun?" he asked once he sat behind the steering wheel and the door was closed, giving the boy a brief satisfied smile.

Dick put on his seatbelt with tense movements as he answered "Yeah. The plays were great. Thank you." He didn't know why he thanked his guardian, the atmosphere just seemed to drag the words from his mouth. It would be just his luck if Bruce spotted Richard now.

He nervously peeked out of the window, wanting to be as far away from the bus as possible, and he couldn't help but watch the reunions of the families outside through the window behind Bruce's head.

"I remember when I saw my first play," his guardian replied and there was something in his voice that made Dick turn his attention onto the man beside him and keep it there. It was a very subtle strangeness, in his voice or in his face, but it was there nonetheless. It was as if there was more to the story than he was willing to reveal.

Dick opened his mouth to ask but they were already moving from the parking lot, turning to join the busy Gotham traffic and Bruce's eyes didn't encourage conversation.

Dick squirmed in his seat as they drove through the city, skyscrapers growing taller on either side of him until they blocked out the sun. He felt as if some force was pulling him backwards , slowing him down – as if his individual cells were trying to escape. His body flushed hot and cold, how could this be happening to him? How could he be going back? He should have tried to escape, at least _tried_, no matter what the consequences were. Now it was too late, there was no way out. Bruce was right beside him, would take him right to the door of the manor and take him inside and then what? Pain, Dick knew that. Pain and humiliation were what would follow.

Dick swallowed past his tight, dry throat. He had to do something. Fight, run, try anything. It was like Richard said, he was only a victim if he didn't fight. He could fight, he had to. Resist, not let Bruce have his way. He glanced sideways at his guardian, noting the broadness of his shoulders, his muscled chest and arms underneath the fabric of his suit. Dick hadn't even been able to fight off McTravis, he couldn't win against Bruce. He just couldn't. He'd already tried, and it had taken months to heal. He knew it was cowardly, but Dick didn't want that pain again.

The view from the window changed as Bruce drove them closer to Wayne Manor and soon they were gliding through the black gates and up the drive to the house. As Bruce parked in front of the main entrance, the great door opened and someone came out. Dick recognized the skinny black and grey figure of Alfred, standing at the top of the steps like some awful bird, a starved vulture watching a wounded animal crawl closer.

Bruce got out of the car without a word but Dick didn't move. He didn't have any strength, he might as well have had water for blood. He looked down at his hands in his lap, still tangled up in the straps of his backpack. Maybe if he stared hard enough, time would freeze, and this last, safe moment would never end. But then his door was pulled open abruptly, and Bruce looked at him expectantly.

"Alfred is waiting for you," he said.

The boy managed to get one foot out of the car, and from there he was carried forwards by habit. He walked up the steps like he had done so many times after being driven home from school, pausing at the top in front of the old butler.

Alfred gave a slight bow, bending his shoulders without taking his eyes off the teen.

"Welcome home, Master Dick," he said, and even his rigorous sense of propriety failed to mask his coldness. Alfred was not happy the boy was back either.

"Thanks," Dick managed to mumble in return, his eyes on the stone at his feet.

A large hand clapped him on the back as Bruce came up behind him, compelling him forwards through the dark, empty threshold of Wayne Manor.

"Come on, Dick, there's dinner on the table," he said almost jovially. Dick's skin crawled as he thought about why Bruce was so glad to have him back again.

The familiar hall of Wayne Manor was as hollow as always, cold and echoing like a cave. The ceiling stretched high above their heads as Bruce steered him into the dining hall. Dick looked over his shoulder at the vanishing glimpse of the outside world and saw Alfred bringing his suitcase up the steps with considerably less ease than Bruce had carried it.

Sitting at the same dining table, surrounded by the ancient smell of the house, with everything exactly where it had been before, Dick felt like he had stepped into a painting. Bruce sat in exactly the same spot, Alfred served them another fancy meal, and all the while Dick repeated in his mind that this was just a performance, a tableau, as if someone was watching them, making them hide the _real_ truth of their relationship. The boy said thank you for everything he was served, and answered all of his guardian's seemingly innocent questions about what he had done on the trip such as whether or not he had slept enough or eaten well, but he never stopped waiting for the moment when the pretence would be dropped. He couldn't relax, because he knew that sooner or later, someone would shout "Cut!" and then the monster would be released and tear him apart.

"Take those off at the dinner table, Dick," his guardian ordered, and for a moment, the boy didn't know what the billionaire was talking about, then he remembered the sunglasses. He'd been so terrified that he'd forgotten he was wearing them. He fingered one of the brackets as if his body wanted to obey Bruce on its own.

"Err..."

"Come on now, I've indulged you enough by letting you wear them this long. Take them off and let me see your face," Bruce insisted, his voice growing hard. The Wayne heir was an impatient man, and he laid his hand down on the table as if to imply he would use force to get what he wanted. It was unnecessary, Dick knew that well enough already.

"Bruce, I-" He needed to come up with an excuse, quick. It would be impossible to keep the sunglasses on until the bruise healed, so he just needed to make up some fake story about how he got it. "While I was on the trip, I-"

"What? Dick, I told you to take them off." And with that he stood up, reached across to Dick's face, and snatched the sunglasses off him. Dick froze, and for a moment, Bruce looked like he had done the same. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously and he said, "Who did that to you?"

"Nobody! I hit my face on a chair when I bent down to pick something up! I was careless, I'm sorry..." Why did he always end up begging Bruce for forgiveness?

His guardian's hand whipped out like a striking snake and gripped Dick's jaw tightly, yanking his chin up painfully so that the man could study the bruise in the light.

"You're lying." Bruce's tone was certain and sharp like flint, leaving no room for discussion. "Tell me who hit you."

The room behind Bruce seemed to grow darker as the man loomed large in front of Dick. But why was he protecting McTravis anyway? Bruce could get the older boy expelled, and then Dick would never have to put up with his stupid comments anymore. The bully would also not be able to spread what he knew any further. At the same time, Dick didn't want to give him a reason to hate him any more than he already did, driving him to deliberately spread his secret in order to hurt Dick. And what would Bruce do if he found out his ward had thrown the first punch? Experience taught Dick not to expect a positive response.

On top of everything though, Dick had the cold fear swirling in the pit of his stomach that if Bruce found out, McTravis would be in danger of more than just expulsion. The way Bruce was looking at him now made Dick afraid to divert the man's anger onto anybody else. He would take the blows if he had to, but he wouldn't let anyone else suffer, not even McTravis.

"It was an accident," Dick insisted, his teeth grit tightly against the man's fingers which moved in the flesh of his cheeks as if looking for weak spots to exploit.

"You know I won't take you lying to me, Dick," Bruce threatened.

"It's the truth," he said, somehow able to meet the monster's eyes without flinching.

Bruce stared down at him for a long second, then he accused quietly, "Who are you protecting?"

It was barely above a murmur, but it made Dick's heart stop nonetheless. The billionaire's tone and the look in his eyes gave Dick the chills, and his concern for McTravis doubled. Dick knew Bruce would find out about the fight soon anyway, but the simple act of protecting someone else made him feel... stronger. For these few minutes, he knew something the billionaire didn't. He had a secret of his own.

"Nobody," he insisted, trying to look like he was telling the truth while at the same time hoping that bastard McTravis knew what he was doing for him.

"Hm." Bruce released his ward's face with a jolt. "Go to bed, Dick. I have a phone call to make."

The man left the dining room leaving Dick stunned in his wake. That was it? No beating? No punishment? No rape? It was too good to be true and Dick didn't believe it. He couldn't have got off that easily. Bruce had said he had a phone call to make; it wasn't over.

After a moment' hesitation, Dick slid off his chair and crept to the swinging door, pushing it open just a crack so that he could listen to Bruce already speaking into the phone in the hallway. His voice was authoritative and scary, every bit that of an angry rich father.

"Dick came home with a black eye today," the boy heard him announce sharply into the phone. He assumed Bruce had phoned the school, and was now talking to the principal or one of the teachers on the trip. They would break their backs to accommodate Bruce, and they knew about the fight. This didn't look good.

"I don't care, no, that doesn't concern me... You _should_ have been doing your _jobs_," he continued, and Dick could just imagine the poor teachers on the other end, panicking to give him what he wanted without incurring his wrath. Forget McTravis being expelled; the teachers could be fired for this! Dick thought of Mr Luca, Miss Wattes and Mr Jameson, all harmless, friendly, regular people who had done nothing to deserve the hand of Bruce Wayne appearing in their lives.

"I want to know who is responsible," Bruce demanded. "What do you mean an altercation?... With who?" Then there was a long pause.

_Don't tell him!_ Dick wanted to yell at whoever was at the other end, but all he could do was hold his breath and hope. His heart sank as he heard Bruce confirm his fears.

"Yes... Wasn't his father indicted for embezzlement this year?... Alright, thank you..." There was a subtle change of tone as Bruce reverted to his jolly playboy persona, having got the name he wanted. "No, I won't be pursuing this matter any further. Dick wasn't seriously injured, and boys will be boys I know that... Yes, thank you, goodbye."

As Bruce hung up the phone, Dick leaned forward, hoping to see what he would do next, but he was almost hit in the face as Bruce came back into the dining room.

"Dick! I told you to go to bed," he scowled.

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm going right now... but..."

"But what?" Bruce snapped.

He had to ask. "What are you going to do?" His voice was small, not wanting to draw attention back to himself. Bruce looked at him, his expression set hard and unforgiving. His focus flicked to the black eye on his ward's face for a moment, then impenetrable blue stared into worried green.

"Go to bed, Dick," was all he said.

**Author's Note:** Okay! How did you like that? Good? Of course it was. What's going to happen next? Ooooh, exciting.

Here are all your presents. First, we've got some fanart to pimp out, done by AmberSpirit herself for the last chapter. If you just do a search for "McTravis" it comes up, it's called "Oh, Did I hit a nerve?"

Secondly, and most awesomely, WE HAVE A FANVIDEO!OMGZ!11 etc. AmberSpirit did it, and frankly, I love it. She even used one of the songs off the playlist. It's gorgeous, really it is. It has Richard and McTravis and Batman and just, wow. You just have to search "The Boy in the Manor" in youtube. Speaking of the playlist, I actually made it on youtube, but I haven't figured out how to get it to show up on searches and whatnot yet. Anyway, WATCH THE VIDEO.

We're totally going to get to 600 reviews this chapter 0.0 Maybe 10,000 hits if we're lucky.

As for the casting, I watched _Jet Boy_, and I'd say just for that Branden Nadon gets the part of Dick. He's the kid in the music video AmberSpirit made. Agree with me? As for Bruce, my favourites are a young Daniel Day Lewis, or Michael Fassbender if he had black hair. For this chapter, I'd like to hear who you think should be Alfred! I prefer the one from the older Batman films, as Alfred should not be cockney! But maybe that's just me. Let me know!


	36. A Different Boy

Chapter 36: A Different Boy

The boy hadn't bothered to turn on the lights or draw the curtains as the night had slowly crept up around him, so now he sat in total darkness, staring at the blue flickering of the tiny TV that had replaced the 56 inch plasma after it was repossessed. That was when Dad was still telling them it would be okay, that it was only a minor setback, a misunderstanding. He was innocent and yaddi yaddi yada. Dad had brought in the miniscule set like it was a Christmas present to prove that nothing had changed. But everything had changed and now the new TV just looked pitiful, sitting there trying to fill the gap left by something much larger. With a scowl, the boy stood and moved to switch it off; there was no remote.

He stretched. He didn't know what time it was, but he assumed it was around two or three in the morning. He wasn't wearing a watch because Dad had had to ask him for it to give to the repo company. He didn't want it anyway 'cause it had been bought with stolen money. The cheapskate hadn't even bothered to earn the money he spent on his own son's birthday.

Sluggishly, the boy started to make his way to his bedroom. He was tired, but he was always tired these days. He could never seem to feel rested, no matter how long he slept. He just felt beat up all the time, like he didn't want to do anything.

He walked through the kitchen, one of the few rooms in the house that still looked OK since they couldn't really repossess counter tops or knives and forks. They still had the refrigerator, the dishwasher, the stove. His mum liked that.

Past the kitchen was what used to be another sitting room that his parents had entertained in, but it was gutted because it wasn't like anyone would come to their parties anymore. TV gone, sofa gone, artwork gone. There was just the liquor cabinet left, but the boy didn't even have the motivation to drink anything.

Finally into the hall and going up the stairs, he kept his eyes on the carpet so that he wouldn't see the bare little tables and useless hooks in the walls that used to hold art and decorations. His mother's potted plants were still there, big ones that she said brought life into the place, and the boy had slowly grown fond of their faintly wet smell. He passed the wall where all the family photos had been, a lot of them of him when he was a kid. They still had the photos, but the silver frames were gone, so they weren't hanging up anymore.

The house was as dark and still as a cave, totally silent. Even he didn't make any noise as he made his way across the carpet, feeling like a ghost. He didn't mind the house like this, it didn't scare him. It was restful. His parents were in bed so he didn't have to watch them fret and struggle and try to put on a happy face even though his dad stayed home all day now and his mother was watching her life crumble around her. When he was alone like this, in the quiet dark, it was almost like none of that existed, as if there _was_ no world outside - no bills, no court orders and no snotty little brats who had been handed everything on a silver platter who moped around looking like it was all a big inconvenience.

For the hundredth time that day he sucked his split lip into his mouth and remembered the way Grayson had looked right before he popped him. Josh had been fucking with him, talking shit just to see the dumbass expression on his face, all pouty and glary like he wanted Josh's guts to just burst into flames but it was never going to happen and that was the best part: pissing the little shit off just to see what he'd do, because the kid could never win against him. Rubbing Grayson's face in just how powerless he was despite Wayne's fucking fortune made Josh feel _great_... in a sick kind of way. It was justice though, the law of the jungle. Having money didn't make Grayson better than him, and Josh wasn't going to be like everyone else and squirm all over the circus freak like that asshole Rawn does. Josh was bigger, stronger, and Grayson needed to learn his place.

Maybe saying that stuff about him and Wayne had been going a bit far. After all, if someone said that about him, he'd deck them too. But he'd been drinking and smoking up, and he was just really pissed off about those two fucking lovebirds waltzing around all smug and happy, when the teachers had had to pay for him to come on the trip 'cause his fucking greedy thieving dad couldn't afford it. That little shit Grayson should have just admitted that he was a lucky gypsy brat who had no right to a dime of what he had.

Josh found his room and shut the door behind him, throwing himself onto his back on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling and the random string that dangled above his bed. He'd hung toy planes and planets and stuff on it when he was a kid, but he stopped doing that years ago. His TV was also gone, his consoles, his stereo, anything new enough to be worth selling second hand. All he had left were crooked stacks of old games, CDs and DVDs that he had no way of playing. But his room wasn't too bad compared to the rest of the house because his posters and curtains and other useless crap weren't worth any money, so at least the place didn't look so empty. He had clothes and shit all over the floor, and his bed was a mess, but he didn't care. It wasn't like his parents had any right to tell him to clean it anymore.

The boy looked up at the ceiling and remembered the first time he'd spoken to Grayson. It wasn't long after he came to the Academy, back when everyone still thought he was this poor scholarship charity case who walked around like the sun shone out of his crack. Everybody knew he was struggling in all his classes, too dumb to get what everyone else was talking about, but he didn't even make himself friendly. Apparently the only one worthy of his majesty's company was himself. So, naturally, he got picked on. The boys at Allen Bex wouldn't take that attitude from some delicate pretty-boy. Not to mention his hunched, shadowy look, like a fucking undertaker or something. Twitchy, defensive but worst of all disinterested – that was what pissed Josh off the most.

So Josh decided to give him a chance before showing him the error of his ways, and approached the freshman by his locker. It just so happened that he was having a house party that weekend, like he used to back when his family had money. In fact, this was pretty close to when his dad was first investigated and everything began to fall apart. The boy didn't know why he did it, but Josh's parties were always sick and everybody knew it, so there was no way even Grayson would have rejected him. Even he had enough brains to accept Josh's generous offer, which he didn't have to make. Josh remembered looking down at Grayson's pale, thin face, with those big green eyes - it would have been cute if the little bastard didn't look so suspicious and scared before Josh had even opened his mouth. He noticed the deep black shadows under his eyes, and the way he clutched his shoulder when Josh called out to him, and the invite just kind of blurted out. He hadn't thought of anything to say before approaching the boy, but when he got up close his brain just seemed to think that inviting him to his house was a good idea.

Anyway, he didn't know why but he just did it. Josh had been kind enough to invite this nobody of nobodies to his house and the ungrateful little shit had thrown it back in his face. "No thanks," he'd said. Just like that, "No thanks," sarcastic little bastard, as if Josh and his party were beneath him somehow. He'd barely even looked at him when he'd said it. No wonder his name was Dick. After that Josh wasn't going to stoop to being nice to that asshole again, he had his pride. That kid needed an enemy, to keep his head from getting any bigger than it already was.

And the really annoying part was the stupid shit probably didn't even remember it, he's so stuck up.

_You're fucking him, aren't you? I bet you get down on your knees and suck his cock like a little whore, I bet you moan real good. You __enjoy__ taking it up the ass, don't you?_

Maybe he had gone a little too far that time. But when Grayson had thrown that punch, that had been the opportunity he had been waiting for for months. And when that little bastard had ordered him up like he was the fucking janitor at Wayne Industries and Grayson was already running the place, Josh had had no trouble laying him to him with all the anger he'd been holding back. It just wasn't fair that this no-family out-of-towner gets the world handed to him, while Josh gets his share taken away. In that moment, he had wanted to kill Grayson... but he wasn't kidding himself, Grayson had wanted to kill him too.

_Oh my god... It's true, isn't it?_

Josh was sober now, he didn't have Grayson in front of him anymore, so he didn't believe that. But he knew that he'd believed it at the time. There had been something in the kid's face, in the way he reacted to Josh's words that had made him understand that fact, that Bruce Wayne was fucking this boy. Of course that wasn't true, he must have just misunderstood, misread the boy because he was drunk and high and pissed off. But at the time it had seemed crystal clear.

And that was what was keeping him awake now.

_Of course_ it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. No way. Right?

But if it _was_...

But it wasn't so there was nothing for Josh to worry about.

But he had been so sure. If it was true, did Josh have to do something about it? Would he?

The big question was, even if he didn't know for sure, even if it probably _wasn't_ true... shouldn't he do something about it? Even if he just suspected, shouldn't he try to find out the truth?

But what could he do? Call somebody? The police, social services? As if. He'd probably be arrested for slander before anyone investigated Bruce Fucking Wayne.

So what else? Ask Grayson? Again, as if the boy would tell him anything. If Josh was wrong, Grayson would probably cause a scene, attack him or something, and if he was right, Josh would be the last guy the kid would tell. Maybe he should ask Rawn to-

No, that was even more ridiculous. He and Rawn had been enemies for years, instead of just months. He'd called the blonde douche a fag too many times to count over the years, and now the senior was probably just as likely as his little boyfriend to punch him.

Ahhhh, but it didn't matter anyway, right? Josh thought, rolling angrily onto his side to face the window. Because there was no way in hell that Bruce Wayne, playboy extraodinaire, was sticking his dick in an orphaned circus boy. No. Way.

But the kid was pretty jumpy, no matter how you looked at it...

If he started something, his dad would be pissed, that was for sure. It would not help the family situation at all. On the other hand, if it turned out to be true, maybe he could blackmail Wayne into giving his dad a new job, a really good one...

It was nothing in particular that made Josh suddenly sit up and look towards the door. He couldn't say he heard anything or felt a draft from an open window, but something drew his attention. And as he sat there, his focus on his bedroom door and what might be on the other side, he heard something. Getting to his feet, he crept to the door, and listened.

"Is this it?"

"I think so."

"Who's gonna do it?"

"Not me, I'm taking the parents."

"Well, I don't wanna do it."

"Someone's gotta do it. Why do you get to take the parents?"

"'Cause I said so, that's why."

Instead of hiding, and maybe escaping, Josh did something he would regret for the rest of his life. He opened the door.

Later he would explain that he had thought he might be able to scare them away if he confronted them directly, that maybe it was only two or three clumsy, unarmed robbers, or maybe even repo men. He had thought that if he yelled, he could wake his parents. He had thought 'This is my house, dammit, and you're not taking another damn thing!' And it hurt to explain these things afterwards because he knew how stupid they sounded, when whoever was listening could see exactly what opening the door had done to him just by looking at his face.

Gripping the handle tightly, he wrenched the door open, and found himself facing a circle of shadows. Five or six heavily-muscled men, dressed entirely in black, including gloves and masks stood outside his door.

Josh took a breath to yell or make his accusations, but he didn't have time to use it before the one directly in front of him cried "Fuck! Grab him!"

The two on either side of the door moved in and he was instantly engulfed in hands. They gripped his arms tight, covered his mouth, and when he tried to kick, the one who had spoken grabbed his legs, and the three of them carried him bodily back into his room to his bed.

"You two get the parents, we'll do him!" ordered the one who had his legs, who must be some sort of leader. He had to shout because Josh was screaming behind the gloved hand that covered his mouth, and thrashing with every limb, throwing his weight around as best he could. But these men were huge and hard, thugs who knew what the inside of a prison cell looked like, and to them he was as light as a baby.

"Hold him down, will you?" the leader ordered as Josh flailed on the bed. The hand was removed from his mouth, and one attacker moved to pin his wrists to the bed, while the other one held his legs.

"Help! _Help_! Let go of me!" he screamed, continuing to fight even though his muscles were starting to burn. He didn't know what they wanted, but it didn't look like they were only interested in robbing him.

"Please, I- I don't have anything! We don't have any money, my dad's being indicted, everything's been repossessed, _please_!" He watched as the man pulled a large knife from some dark fold in his clothes. "Wha-What are you going to do with that?" he asked, terror making his voice weak, and for a moment, he stopped fighting.

"Hey, are you sure that's okay? Isn't it a bit big?" asked the man holding down his arms. Everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for the reply.

"What do you mean? I'm sure it's fine. I mean, it'll get the job done!" defended the leader.

"Fine for what? What job? I'll scream! I'll scream!" Josh cried, starting to pull at his wrists again.

"Go ahead and scream! There ain't nobody to hear you! You rich bitches live in these huge houses all by yourselves with no neighbours, who's gonna save you? Your parents are probably already dead!" the man with the knife sneered.

So this was Gotham. This was what people were afraid of.

At the thought of his parents down the hall gutted and bleeding and dead, Josh started to cry. "Please, please, not me too, not me, please!" he sobbed, his voice breaking to shriek "_Don't do this!_"

His feet were being held tight, but one hand managed to slip free unexpectedly. It grazed the face of the man holding his other arm and Josh gasped, having just enough time to think "Now's my chance!" before that and all hope was ripped away. The thug managed to seize his hand again and this time he leant down so hard that it felt like the building blood pressure in his fingers would tear his skin.

"Boss, I can't hold this kid, don't you have anything to tie him?" the man complained.

The man with the knife looked around. He snatched Josh's school tie from where he'd dropped his uniform on the floor. "Here, use this."

The man with the knife held his arm down while tied one hand to his bed post, so tight the silk felt like razor wire. The man was then free to move to one side of the bed and kneel on Josh's upper arm, taking his boss' place. The boy thought the bone would break. He couldn't move that arm an inch, and he could only swing his other elbow uselessly as he pulled against the tie, not caring for his skin.

He bucked crazily on the bed, not giving up.

"Shit, kid," cursed the man with the knife, climbing onto the bed and sitting on Josh's chest. His weight was almost too much for the boy to breathe. "Just let us do our job, will you?"

Desperate, Josh looked out of his window. There was nothing out there but the night sky and some calmly waving trees, swaying serenely as if they couldn't hear him screaming.

The man on top of him shifted his grip on the knife so that the blade now pointed downward, aimed at Josh.

"_No!_ Please, God!" He whipped his face back and forth as if that could somehow free him. As he looked towards his open doorway, he glanced something that made him look back. A tall figure, perfectly motionless, facing down the hall towards his parents' room but looking in at him. Josh could only see the lower half of his face because he was wearing a mask, and from the utter shapelessness of his silhouette, Josh could tell he was wearing a cape. No way.

Josh gasped, getting a throatful of thick spit and tears, his eyes going wide. "Help! Help me, please! Batman!"

"What?" The three thugs all spun to look at the door, but the figure was gone. "Jesus Christ, kid, you nearly gave me a heart attack, stop yellin' stuff like that!" the man chastised him from atop his chest but Josh barely heard him. He had seen his saviour, but he was gone.

"No! Come back! Batman! Come back, come back!_ Don't leave me here!_" Josh screamed until his throat was raw. Why had the supposed hero disappeared? He had seen him, he must have seen him. He looked right at Josh, but he didn't do anything even though he must have heard the boy screaming.

"This kid's lost it," uttered the man holding his feet.

"Come on, do it already, this is giving me the creeps," spoke the man pinning his arm before giving a shiver.

"Alright, alright," answered the leader, sounding harassed. His strong, gloved hand grabbed Josh's face, turning it towards himself as he bent down to speak. Josh gasped to breathe through his panic, his wide blue eyes pumping tears down the sides of his head, running into his hair and soaking his pillow, chilling his ears. All he could see of the man above him was two narrow brown eyes, merciless and frightening, the rest was hidden behind a black mask and black face paint. He couldn't even tell the man's race for certain. He would have nothing to give to the police, if he lived.

"Now, listen carefully, kid. We got a job to do and we're gonna do it, understand?" When Josh didn't reply, he shook his face roughly. "Understand?" he growled sharply.

"Mmhmm!" Josh whined in agreement, seeing no other option.

"Good. Now, our job," he wiggled his fingers on the grip of the knife for comfort, his leather gloves creaking softly. "Is to take your left eye-"

"_No!_ Please-!"

"_Quiet!_ That's happening, okay kid? Whether you want it to or not, it's happening. Now if you behave... That's all we're taking. But if you fight, if you wriggle around or kick me, then you might end up in some serious trouble. Maybe my knife slips, and you lose half your face, or maybe you twitch, and I stab you in your brain leaving you a retard if you're not dead. But if you stay still, maybe you have enough left to get a nice glass eye and no one will even know the difference. Doesn't that sound nice? Now, I don't want any of that other stuff to happen, but if it does, I don't particularly care either way, you see? I'm here to do my job. Fucking you up, that's not my job, but if I have to do it to get your eye, I'm gonna do it. And I think you're gonna cooperate with me because you don't want to get fucked up either, am I right? Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

"Yes! Yes, please..." Josh closed his eyes and cried.

"Okay, good. I'm glad we understand each other. So are you gonna fight? Hmm?" He rattled Josh's head again.

The boy didn't know how to answer. There was no answer to a question like that. Would he try to defend himself? Hell, would he flinch while they were cutting his eye out? But at the same time, one thought kept running through his mind. Where was Batman? _Where was Batman?_

"I'm waiting for an answer here, kid," the man prompted him, and in that instant Josh gave up. He shook his head sadly, his whole body convulsing as he cried for himself, eyes squeezing shut tight.

"Good boy." The man lifted the knife and placed his knees on either side of Josh's head like a vice. His warm gloved fingers prised the boy's eyelids apart and Josh gave a moan.

"Oh, you can scream if you like, I won't hold that against you. Frankly, I'd be impressed if you didn't," the man said, and with that he leant forward. "Now... keep looking at me, kid..."

Josh didn't want to watch, he didn't want to see the way the light ran up the blade as it came towards him. He didn't want to see sharp pinprick edge coming closer and closer and never stopping. Nor did he want to feel his breath rebound against his face or watch it mist on the metal above him. A warmth flooded between his legs but he barely felt it, so completely fixated was he on two things, the tip of that blade, and keeping his body still.

The man had said he'd be impressed if the boy didn't scream. Josh disappointed him.

**Author's Note:** Well, you guys are always asking for chapters from Bruce's/Alfred's/Richard's point of view, so you can see what's really going on... If you want a break from Dick's POV, we decided we'd give it to you, trolololol. But really, we came to this chapter by saying, "Gee, where can we go now? What _haven't_ we done yet?" and the answer was _gore_. I don't think this really counts as gore anymore, since I kind of stopped before that stuff, which is kind of too bad in a way... But yeah. Poor McTravis! This is also the very first time Batman has actually _appeared_, instead of just being mentioned. Aaand, we were so super-nice as to put this up quickly, to kind of make up for the long waits you guys have had recently.

Oh we had fun with this, oh yes we did...


	37. Just A Boy

Chapter 37: Just a boy

There was a new driver waiting for him in front of the manor the next day. He didn't introduce himself, didn't say anything at all in fact and only motioned towards the doors of the car with a sharp jerk of his head. He steadily avoided the boy's eyes during the whole process.

Dick supposed the man must be a replacement; after all, Mrs Dominatrix's absence left a gap in his seemingly scheduled rotation of chauffeurs that needed to be filled. It was only a matter of time. The boy climbed inside, tugging at the knot of his tie unsurely as the car started and he returned to the dull routine of his school life.

Despite his worries about McTravis and Richard, the boy's mind shut down about midnight and he had a restful, uninterrupted sleep that left him feeling awake and aware of everything around him. Bruce didn't join him for breakfast and Alfred was a constant, faceless presence in the background. The morning routine didn't make him feel good exactly but there was a certain feeling of confidence and power in it; he could predict things easier when he moved within this routine.

The Gotham streets moved past the bulletproof glass like distant and unrelated images, a movie on mute. Dick leaned forward to peer at the chauffer.

"Are you new?" he asked bluntly. The man didn't respond. Perhaps he was given instructions from Bruce not to.

"What's your name?" Dick persisted, itching to put a name on the face, but the chauffer remained silent and Dick leaned back in his seat with a frustrated sigh. He never got their names anyway.

He was uncomfortably aware of the designer sunglasses in the side pocket of his schoolbag. He would have to find Richard and apologize to him later during lunch, come up with some stupid story about how he took them by accident or something similar. He didn't like the idea of lying to Richard that way - he lied to him about so many other things already - but he had no other option. He wanted, _needed_ the boy by his side and if he had to lie to keep him there, well... he would do what it took.

Dick lowered his eyes, letting go of the tie and fixing his eyes on the passing buildings with a grim expression. Another issue was McTravis. Bruce had found out about the older boy's involvement last night and he'd seemed... angry? It was hard to understand his feelings but he certainly seemed displeased, and Dick worried what he would find once he entered the gates of the academy. Would McTravis confront him? Should Dick... warn him? But what would he say? It all seemed so hopeless he didn't want to even try. He knew he was taking the easy way out, but taking Bruce on like that, even indirectly, seemed like an impossible feat. He instinctively shrunk away from the responsibility and preferred to focus on his previous goal: keeping Richard unnoticed. He knew where his priorities lay and it wasn't anywhere near McTravis.

Did that make him a bad person? Last night he had wanted to shield the boy so desperately, but how much of it was actual human kindness, and how much was just to deny Bruce something that he wanted?

Sitting there, trapped in a car with a nameless man that didn't say a word and only answered to Bruce... it didn't feel like he could _afford_ to be kind.

Dick frowned at the path his thoughts had taken. No, he owed it to McTravis to at least try, no matter what kind of a bigoted asshole he was. He felt like Bruce's dark side was his responsibility even if he had no means of protecting anyone from its wrath. He wanted to be a good person. Like Richard.

_Killing someone is legal if it's in self defence._

Dick shut his eyes, willing the terrible thought away. Ever since his trip, the idea was latched into his brain like a parasite and randomly popped up, whenever he thought of his blond friend and their talks in the hotel room.

'_There's more to wrong or right than what's against the law. If someone is hurting you, it's not wrong to try to stop them.__'_

But how could he ever possibly stop Bruce? The man was an uncontrollable force; he could see that now more than ever after his brief break from the prison. His thoughts were brave when he was out of Gotham, seemingly out of the monster's reach, but now that he was back and surrounded by his lackeys and money, it felt hopeless. Impossible.

_Killing someone is legal if it's in self defence._

No, he could never do it. His parents wouldn't want him to do it. There had to be another way, there was always a way. But would he be able to find it? His time was running out... slowly but surely he was breaking, like a toy that had been used too many times - _Dogger, his beautiful Dogger how could he just throw him away like that, he used to be such a cruel child _- and soon he would not be able to handle the pressure, he could feel it like a physical sensation inside his head, his brain. There was only so much Dick Grayson could endure before he would stop wondering how to escape, stop desiring a way out of his cage.

He had to fight. If this trip taught him anything it was that he has to stand up to Bruce, refuse to obey and blindly follow - next time Bruce grabs him to drag his body into that fucking disgusting room he has to do _something_ and not just give in. He didn't want to be weak, he wanted to be strong... like Richard (like Batman) but there was something about Bruce's presence that sucked all the strength out of him and it was as if his body remembered everything and froze in fear.

But fuck, he has to at least try...!

Dick freed his finger from the clasp of his teeth, staring at the pink flesh under his bitten out pieces of nail and swallowed, his mouth tasting like iron. This all felt so surreal, like a long never-ending nightmare and Bruce, the king of all creatures, stalked through it like some awful monster.

God, if he could get his hands on his guardian when he's weak and defenceless... sprawled on the floor like a child, looking up at him the way Dick stared up all those times in the forbidden room. If he could get him restrained then maybe he could do it. Take a knife and gut that bastard like a pig and keep stabbing and stabbing and Bruce would scream at him to stop but he would just keep going.

Dick glared at his reflection in the darkened window, his posture stiff. He couldn't ever imagine Bruce that weak, desperate enough to beg - the man was always in control. Even in his own head it was impossible, the man's face fuzzy and not quite right as the dark fantasy played out.

The boy covered his face with his hands, breathing slowly. Was it possible to hate somebody this much? It felt like selling his soul to the devil.

He leaned his head against the window with a grimace.

Soon enough he was dropped off at the academy, the chauffer standing out of the car and looking at him with a stony expression even though their eyes never once met. Dick could feel his gaze until he walked up the main flight of stairs and when he turned around the gleaming car was leaving, guards nodding as they let it pass by the west gate of the school. Dick walked through the halls, ignoring his classmates' faces and the constant flow of motion and boyish chatter until he was in his class and focusing on the first lesson of the day.

Teachers seemed jumpy around him and he noticed Mr. Luca sending him unsure looks during English class. He assumed it was because of the night's phone call; everybody lived in fear of Bruce's displeasure and that somehow made him feel better, like he wasn't weak for being afraid.

He wasn't surprised when asked him to stay after the lesson; the man looked really nervous as he stared down at the fourteen year old approaching his desk. He was looking at his bruised eye as everybody else was, Dick could tell. It still hadn't healed although after applying the lotion that Alfred had given him, the injury looked marginally better.

McTravis' brand.

"Look, Richard," Mr Luca began and Dick tensed at the unfamiliar form of his name. "About what happened on the trip, I hope you understand that I didn't mean to-"

"It's not your fault, Mr L," Dick protested immediately. It pained him to see his favourite teacher apologizing in this way, it was so undignified and pathetic. There was a certain fear lurking in the man's voice that made him feel uncomfortable; it wasn't something that he expected from an adult, especially in one that had authority over him. It scared Dick to see the normally friendly teacher so shaken. He must have been really worried about his job.

"I just want you to know that I wish I had got there sooner," the man said, glancing at his eye again as Dick shook his head in dismissal.

"This... It's nothing, it will be gone in a few days, it's nothing," he kept repeating it, but it didn't seem to reassure the man. Eventually, Dick left the classroom feeling strangely uneasy; there was a disturbance at the very back of his mind that forced him to replay the conversation over and over. Mr Luka's fear transferred to his own brain like a virus and he was left feeling gloomy as he walked towards his next class. The only thing that kept him going through the meaningless subjects was the thought of meeting Richard and seeing his friend's familiar face.

However by the time lunch break rolled around Dick realized that he actually had no idea where Richard's locker or even his classroom was. The boy found himself awkwardly standing in one of the hallways where he usually met the senior, trying to find the familiar tall figure of the blond. After a moment of consideration, he brought out his mobile phone and wrote his friend a short message, fighting off a warning voice that Bruce wouldn't like his ward using the phone he had bought the boy for anything other than contacting the man himself.

'_Want to meet up for lunch?'_

He looked up from his phone as he heard someone mention McTravis' name.

"-he's in hospital right now, I don't know the details but they fucked with his face..."

"Jesus... Doesn't he live like three blocks away from me? That's scary."

"Apparently the whole family got attacked in the middle of the night. Batman managed to save the parents but was too late for-"

Batman?

Dick leaned closer, trying to hear the pair of boys standing next to his locker. They were upperclassmen he had never seen before and weren't paying him any attention. One of them was in the process of tightening his tie, his mouth opened to continue when a soft sound behind Dick disturbed him from his eavesdropping.

"Hey."

There was a movement in the corner of his eye and a touch on his shoulder - Dick jerked away in reflex only to find his friend smiling down at him with amused eyes. "I got your message like five seconds ago. Lunch sounds good."

Dick agreed, but he wasn't as hungry as he had been a minute ago.

They ended up going to the cafe where they ate together for the first time; it had made him feel lonely, but over the course of the last few weeks it had begun to be filled with happier memories. He sincerely hoped there would be many more such moments he could add to that shrunk, crippled place inside his soul.

As soon as they sat down with their food, Dick reached inside his bag and grabbed a small leather case he had taken from the endless drawers of accessories in his room. Inside lay Richard's stolen sunglasses. He apologetically placed them on the table.

"I must have taken them by accident when I left..." he trailed off, hoping it would be enough. He felt truly wretched about the whole thing. It was as if he was being proven time and time again that he wasn't worthy of being Richard's friend. '_You don't deserve this_' his inner voice whispered, surfacing from the depth of lies long enough to let him know he was a liar, different from his friend.

The blonde blinked down at the object and then smiled, pulling out his sunglasses and putting them on. Dick didn't like the effect; the boy's eyes were hidden and made him look like a stranger. He saw his own reflection in their darkness.

"I didn't even realize I lost them!" Richard stated as he started to eat, one hand holding the sandwich while the other dug for something in his bag. Even when faced with Richard's obvious forgiveness, Dick still felt somehow unsatisfied. It was an empty feeling that he couldn't shake off.

"I actually have something for you too," he said in between the bites. Inside his hand was a small plastic object that after a while Dick recognized as a USB port. He had been forced to use one when preparing a PowerPoint presentation for his Economics class. He had had a lot of trouble with it, and even though Bruce had paid for extra computing lessons, Dick couldn't seem to connect with technology the way most of his peers did. The computer in his room remained for the most part unused.

"It's the photos from the trip. Check them out when you get home."

Dick took it with surprised eyes.

He ended up plugging it into one of the school's computers after his Math class. He was skipping Geography to do it, but he didn't care. Ever since the trip, his priorities had undergone a subtle transformation, and now anything related to Richard was suddenly a matter of life and death. He recognized that this change was unhealthy, but it prevented him from caring.

His friend had meant well, but of course Dick knew that he could not open the photos at home. Despite his limited knowledge of computers, he knew that Bruce was monitoring him, and that probably applied to all the digital devices in the manor too. Even if he deleted all traces from his desktop, the cameras would catch him sticking the USB port in anyway. It was safer to do it at school.

The photos looked nice and had a certain professional feel to them that Dick accredited to the expensive camera. There was a picture of them in front of the university; then the colossal greatness of the waterfall in their hotel - oh yes, there he was near the centre of the picture, looking very small surrounded by the looming architecture. Then another photo of the two of them, Richard's arm around his back and Dick's eyes stuck in a motion of looking away, creating a strange blurry effect that disturbed him. Another shot, this time just when they were getting ready for the play and Richard was making a corny James Bond pose in his suit, his face deceitfully serious, making Dick laugh out loud as he remembered taking it.

There were only a few photos in the folder although Dick remembered Richard taking much more. He must have deleted the ones that didn't work out.

He stopped at the last picture, the scene set in their vast bathroom in the hotel. It was their second night together and Richard wanted to document the ridiculous bubble bath mechanism Aquaz was so famous for. In the picture, he was holding the camera as he faced the mirror, catching their reflection as Dick poked at the different buttons and Richard sat on the edge of the large bath, fully clothed but slightly wet as he held the camera upwards. He was looking away from the mirror, his gaze down, making his lashes cast shadows on his face, long and soft looking. He looked very young in the picture, grinning brightly and Dick was suddenly overcome by a strong rush of affection for his friend that left him feeling weak. It was a sensation similar to how he felt about his parents whenever he remembered a particular good memory; a strange sort of longing that gave him strength.

He continued looking through the pictures until the bell rang and he had to log off, packing his bag and putting the USB port inside his locker, not daring to even bring it home. He was aware of Alfred's nasty habit of going through his school bag, although what he expected to find Dick never knew.

The same driver from the morning waited for him in front of the school gates and Dick climbed inside. He didn't attempt to talk to the man again.

0o0

"Is something the matter, young master?" Alfred asked and Dick could hear the slight hint of impatience in his voice, a subtle reminder that he was not wanted in the butler's area of the mansion.

"Nothing. Just looking around," he replied cheekily. He wasn't in any mood to play around but teasing Alfred in this way still granted him a kind of sick satisfaction. It was a petty and ineffectual revenge, but it was all he had. The old man continued to ignore him and simply went about his daily tasks. His hands looked surprisingly fragile as he washed the tomatoes in the sink, cutting them one by one with expert movements. The knife glinted in the electric light of the kitchen and Dick's eyes followed its movement for a long moment. What if he just... took the knife from the butler's hands? Would he even be able to use it as a weapon if the time to fight back presented itself?

The more he thought about it the more hopeless he felt; what did it matter to Bruce if he was armed or not? The man could easily twist his hands behind his back and take the knife from him by force. Dick didn't know how to wield a weapon of any kind so he would be just relying on pure luck and when was he ever lucky?

The boy moodily turned his gaze away and faced the window instead, his dark reflection returning the stare with unhappy eyes. His hair was gradually growing out; no longer resembling an army cut, it was looking thicker and starting to give his face the shape he knew from his childhood - he had had shorter hair back when his mother was around to cut it.

Dick tugged at the few strands and gracefully hopped off the counter.

"Alfred, do you have a family of your own?"

The butler looked at him with puzzlement which quickly formed into a blank mask of professionalism. For a long moment Dick thought he wouldn't get an answer until Alfred swept the cut tomatoes into a bowl and said "Yes. I have a brother."

Dick blinked, not expecting that. He sometimes wondered about Alfred's past life before he got captured by the Wayne family, but he had never found the motivation to ask. In his mind Alfred was always alone; a solitary being stuck in the late fifties that was forever restrained by its inbred professionalism. Dick had expected the answer to be 'no,' because only a man void of all affection could do what Alfred did. The idea of him having a family or any kids of his own seemed unnatural.

"What's his name?" Dick asked.

"Wilfred," came the soft answer from within the sounds of boiling water. Alfred's face was hidden in the steam rising from the pot.

Dick laughed. "_Alfred _and_ Wilfred_? Are you twins?"

"No, we are not," the butler replied, cold as stone with annoyance running off his words like drops of rain.

Dick corrected himself and returned to his former disinterested tone. "Is it nice having a sibling? I often wished I had a little sister..." he confessed, not really sure what he hoped to achieve by this conversation. But the admission was true enough; back in the circus he had longed for a little girl to carry around and protect. Looking back on it now he probably wanted to be put in the position of the protector instead of the protected.

As if he could protect anyone now. If he actually had a baby sister of his own he would not be able to shield her from Bruce's anger and sick perversions. Perhaps it was better that he was alone.

He noticed that Alfred didn't answer his question and when he lifted his gaze the butler was staring at him with an unreadable look on his face. He looked like he was about to say something when there was the sound of car wheels from outside the opened window and both of them instinctively turned towards the direction of the noise.

The master of the manor had arrived. Dick frowned at the realization, tearing his gaze away and unenthusiastically picking at a neatly laid out carrot on the counter. He didn't want to face Bruce but he knew that he would be forced to eat dinner with him anyway so what was the point of returning to his room? He might as well stay downstairs. He was already wearing presentable clothes for the dining room anyway.

He grabbed the carrot and mindlessly dug his nails into it, tearing at the outer layer and breaking the vegetable in half. He then continued to destroy it, his mind on autopilot until all that was left were ugly orange pieces that were strewn all across the counter, some fallen on the clean tiled floor and sullying the butler's hard work. Alfred didn't say anything but Dick could feel his disapproval like a physical hand. He turned his back on the old man but Alfred sidestepped him, turning off the heat on the saucepan and adding a few more ingredients to the mix.

He wondered how long it would take for Bruce to find them. The man seemed to have some sort of a sixth sense when it came to his butler and Alfred too always seemed to know his master's whereabouts. It was only Dick who was left in the dark to be surprised.

As it turned out, it didn't take long. Bruce walked into the spacious kitchen with a confident stride, his face relaxed as he surveyed them both. Alfred immediately turned away from the pot to give his master his full attention. Dick shrunk away, pretending he needed a glass of water, but he could feel his guardian's eyes.

"Alfred, could we have dinner a bit later than usual?" Bruce's deep voice inquired from behind him as Dick reached out for one of the higher cupboards, filling the glass at the tap. "Eight o'clock?" It was in the tone of a question, but Bruce Wayne never asked for anything, he commanded.

"Certainly, sir." Alfred's voice was polite but still warmer than it had been before. Dick grimaced bitterly, that desperate feeling of being unwanted creeping up on him like a curse.

"And how was school, Dick?" Bruce asked, still with that terrible pleasant voice. Dick hated it only because he didn't know what it meant; it was as if the man was stuck in that grey area between playing the part of a jovial billionaire or a harsh guardian surrounded by secrets. Was Bruce acting at all? Or was he simply in a good mood?

Dick was tired of guessing.

"It was ok," he replied unenthusiastically, washing the glass and putting it back in its place. He was stalling for time; facing Bruce and looking him in the eye was always hard but now it seemed downright impossible. After months of following the man's orders and letting him do what he wanted, the realization that it was Dick's responsibility to fight back came as... as something crushing, impossible. He hadn't realized it before but the fact that he was a victim and had no control over the situation had been almost comforting. These bad things were happening _to_ him, he had no control over them, he could not do anything to change his situation. He was not _responsible_ for his miserable fate.

But if there was something that his conversations with Richard taught him it was that if he wanted his situation to change, it was his duty to fight back. It was his own fault for not standing up to the monster. Nobody else was going to save him from this.

"Let me see your face," Bruce ordered, his voice still pleasant. Dick turned around, keeping his eyes on the floor morosely. He could feel both Bruce's and Alfred's eyes on him and when he lifted his face he saw that his guardian's hand was outstretched, motioning for him to come closer.

Alfred was watching him with a disturbingly blank face, more like a wild predator than a person. He was holding a pot and resumed scrubbing it only when Dick willed his feet to move. Alfred turned his attention back to cleaning when Dick obeyed and stood in front of his guardian.

"Hm." Bruce made a soft noise, lifting his hand to briefly touch Dick's face. His thumb stroked under the boy's injured eye and Dick willed himself not to wince.

"It's healing nicely," the man murmured and then looked away, his hand shifting until it settled at the back of his ward's neck in a tight grip. "Come, Dick. Walk with me."

It was as if his feet moved on their own, and before he knew what was happening, they were walking up the stairs, passing the portrait of Bruce's parents on their way upstairs. Dick's eyes looked up to meet the familiar smiling faces but he could not bear to stare for long - there was something very sad about thinking of them in his current situation.

Bruce's steps were slower than usual, as if the man was trying to accommodate his ward's much smaller legs, and he was talking to him in that terrible, pleased voice again. The hand on his neck was firm and possessive and the boy shivered at the contact, experiencing a sudden feeling wrongness, a shift in his body that could be best described as honed survival instinct. With a sudden realization he saw that they had turned a corner and were now going for the west wing of the manor.

The forbidden room.

Dick's eyes widened.

He hadn't noticed it before, too distracted by the rough hand on his neck, but he was being led to that terrible room like a sheep for slaughter. He stumbled slightly, his feet clumsy and unreliable as he tried to keep up with Bruce's now slightly faster, impatient pace.

"_But I still think people should try to help themselves, instead of waiting around for someone else to do it, don't you?"_

He had agreed with Richard then, convinced that it was the right thing to do. So why couldn't he stand up to Bruce now? What was he doing, walking straight to his doom... as if he wanted it, as if it was a consensual thing? No, no, he needed to stop right now, he needed to stop moving, or open his mouth and say something, tell him... tell him that...

He started to sweat, his face hot with panic. With each step they were getting closer and Bruce was still talking and asking him questions about his school as if there was nothing wrong with this picture.

_Killing someone is legal if it's in self-defence._

'_I can't do it!'_ Dick thought with a hint of hysteria. _'I'm too weak! Just a kid, a boy!'_

As if sensing his inner struggle, the hand on his neck tightened, tucking him closer to Bruce's enormous chest until Dick was stumbling on his feet, already seeing the familiar door at the side of the corridor. Oh, God...

_And that's wrong. I know not everyone's in a position where they can help themselves, but they should try._

It doesn't matter if it was hopeless, he needed to do something... Richard... Richard said that people should never give up and Dick didn't want to give up.

'_I'll just... I'll just count to three and then stop walking. I'll count to three and not move and then tell him to stop... tell him that I don't want to do this that he can't do this that... that I won't do this no matter how much he'll try to force me. I'll tell him that it's over that I won't ever do anything like this... that we will just forget about the whole thing and I won't tell anybody as long as he... stops doing this... just count to three...'_

His throat was dry, his head buzzing as he slowed down his pace slightly. Bruce tugged at his neck in frustration and Dick looked down at the floor, seeing his own willowy shadow flickering in and out of existence next to the black mass of his guardian's gargantuan one that seemed to be fighting to absorb the boy whole.

One.

His hands shook, throat dry as they got closer and closer towards that dreaded door.

Two.

Fingers at the back of his head, tugging and fingering his short strands.

Three.

The boy stopped.

**Author's Note:** CLIFFHANGARRRRR. Let's all thank AmberSpirit for this amazing chapter, shall we?

A short note this time, just a couple of things to pimp. First of all, we found another Boy in the Manor music video that no one told us about that you should all see. If u just search "The Boy in the Manor" in Youtube, it comes up, but it's actually called "Dick Grayson / The Boy in the Manor" by soulofkonoha009. Another video we found that I love and that applies to this fic without being explicitly related is "Bruce Wayne / Dick Grayson | My Secret Friend" by lottegrimm. These videos deserve to be watched, people.


	38. Stupid Boy

**Author's Note:** I am always impressed by how quickly love follows hate. Once again, we got some haters at around the same time we usually do, the two month mark. Yes, we took a long time to update, we're very sorry about that, but we've told you before this story isn't getting abandoned, and really, making me dread reading reviews isn't helping your cause. I hope this chapter makes it up to you; it's not long but it's good, and got passed back and forth a few times so it really is a collaboration, more so than usual.

Chapter 38

Bruce didn't even seem to notice that Dick had stopped, and almost pulled the boy over when he kept walking. Dick twisted his neck free of the grip and only then did Bruce stop to look at him, puzzled.

"Is something wrong?" the billionaire asked in a tone that could have been confused for concern, but that Dick had enough experience to know was only curiosity. Bruce had beaten all resistance out of his ward personally; there was no possibility of refusal here.

Dick turned his frightened green eyes up to his guardian, one foot creeping behind him, ready to run. He tried to speak but his fear choked the words. "... Wrong," was all that came out.

"Excuse me?"

Dick cleared his throat and tried again, his skin prickling and body shaking. "This is wrong."

"What's wrong?" Bruce's voice had dropped a pitch, and he turned his imposing body to face Dick, blocking the corridor with his arms folded like a bouncer. The air changed as the billionaire grew suspicious. His face grew cold and intimidating; Dick had seen it before, had caved before in order to escape the beating it promised.

"This. What you're doing. It's wrong, you can't do this." Dick's voice was still weak, and he began to step backwards, trying to put space between him and Bruce so that he didn't have to crane his neck to look at him. He wanted to be out of arm's reach, to have room to run if he had to, a head start. Bruce followed with one self-assured stride.

Dick didn't want to look at Bruce's face that sent adrenaline flooding through his veins and set his instincts screaming to take the words back and just go along with what was happening to avoid the pain, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't afford to miss the fractional change in expression that would come before the lunge, that split second when he would have to run. A small part of his brain was frantically searching the manor for a hiding place, but it hadn't found one yet.

"What am I doing, Dick?" Bruce asked, and petrified the boy even more.

Was Bruce going to deny what he'd done? What could Dick say then? All his words were useless and he would feel like a fool. It was so clever, so calculating, it was almost like Bruce had experience. Was this how the man got what he wanted in the boardroom?

Dick continued to retreat slowly, his arms feeling for a clear path behind him. He knew the stairs were coming up, and he also knew Bruce would not allow him to reach them, but when would the man act? Where was the tipping point? Bruce took another step after him.

"You're... You're r-raping me..." Dick squeezed out, terrified and staring up at the monster stalking him out of the dark shadows. He swallowed but his throat wouldn't clear, and his legs felt so weak he thought he might collapse before he could get to end of the hall.

The man's eyes narrowed and dulled. His arms slipped to his sides and drew the boy's gaze with their movement. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I said, you're r-raping me. It's wrong. You can't do this anymore. I won't let you- I don't want to do this anymore! It's illegal!" As the words came, Dick began to believe in them himself, he began to hear Richard's words in his. He was right! _This_ was right!

"Illegal?" Bruce growled. "Illegal? I took you into this house-"

"That doesn't make it right!" Dick cried, interrupting his guardian for what felt like the first time in all his days at Wayne Manor. He could feel the cooler air from the lobby tickle his ear and he balled his hands into fists. Rage flavoured his pulse now, all the anger and hate that had been building inside him for months was coming undone.

"You- You think you can do whatever you want, but you can't! You think just because you're rich-!" Dick swallowed and tried to get himself back under control. He needed to be in control. He stopped retreating.

"If you let me go... If you _never_ _touch me_ _again_, _never come near me_, _never_... _never_..." He swallowed again and realised he felt nauseous. He'd almost panicked there, but he pushed it all back down and continued. "I won't tell anyone. I'll just go away, no one will ever know. I won't tell the police, or... or the press..."

His words died away as he watched Bruce's face. The man had pulled up straight, his arms had relaxed, and his blue eyes watched calmly from beneath their lids. But worst of all, a faint, crooked smile was tilting Bruce's lips.

"Dick..." he said, his low voice whispering to the boy as if from the very walls of the manor itself. "Are you _threatening_ me?"

The tone was enough. "No! No! I'm just saying... Bruce, I'm just saying... If you _make_ me... There are marks all over me..." He twitched his arms out in front of him as if to demonstrate, but of course there wasn't anything visible there, they were all under his clothes. "You... You... hurt me... and, I never _did_ _anything_... but if you do this, if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to tell, I will, I swear to God, I'll tell, I'll tell everyone until somebody believes me, so just, just let me go. Let me go, and I won't have to..."

Dick's words faded away. The smile was gone from his guardian's face. A silence expanded between them as the boy waited to see what the man would do, muscles still coiled to run if he had to.

Bruce's right hand lifted from his side and slowly, almost as if he was still thinking about it, turned palm up between them, fingers curled slightly, ready to catch and hold. Bruce's eyes opened further to look at the boy, who had stopped breathing as he considered the offering. He knew what it was: acceptance would mean pain - oh yes, there would be pain, and punishment - but that would be it. Tonight, inside that room, he would be set on fire, but he would be allowed to wake up in his own bed in the morning and continue on as if nothing had changed. Refusal... If he refused the offer, Dick didn't know what would happen.

The boy stepped back, his shoulders aching with the stress of holding still for so long.

"Dick," the man spoke with a sharp clip of finality, freezing the boy where he stood. "Take my hand. You know what I can do for you."

Money. Fame. Prestige. The key to the city. Gotham on a plate. Anything and everything he could ever want. This was what Bruce could offer him, and Dick knew it. He knew that if he stayed, his opportunities were limitless. He would be set for life. But Dick also knew that he wouldn't survive long enough to use any of it. He would die first – maybe not physically, because he wouldn't be surprised if Bruce could bribe Death himself for an extension on his ward's life, but emotionally, psychologically. Dick Grayson would be gone, the child his parents raised would be gone. The son his mother gave birth to, the son his father was proud of, would be dead. If that son was to live, if his parents were to survive in any way in him, he had to fight. He had to resist and never give up, never make a deal, never sell his soul for all that Bruce could offer him.

Dick looked at the hand in front of him, and slowly, without taking his eyes away, jerked his head to one side, then the other.

Bruce closed the distance between them in hurried frustration, his movements quick and surprisingly light and agile. Dick scurried away just as fast, almost slipping over in the process of avoiding that reaching hand. Lightning flashed in Bruce's eyes before he regained his composure.

"Dick," he began again. "I am giving you one... last... chance. Stop this nonsense."

His face was thunder, but Dick was resolved to his fate now. A cold peace blossomed in him like death. As he thought about what he was doing, a hysterical panic took hold of his body for a second, sending violent shivers up and down his spine. He shook his head with more conviction now, and looked away from the hand to his guardian's eyes.

"No," the boy insisted. "Go fuck yourself, you're not all that."

Before the last word was even out of his mouth, Bruce dove for him. Hands closed about his arms like moving stone, and Dick twisted and thrashed. He threw his head into his guardian's face but he was too small to connect and hurt him. He kicked violently between the man's legs, but his foot only gouged Bruce's thigh. A fist slammed into his jaw, turning it instantly numb and making Dick think it had dislocated, until he decided he didn't care anyway. _Go on, tear me apart,_ he thought. _I don't want to be awake for this._

Bruce was trying to drag him back to the forbidden room for whatever godforsaken reason the billionaire had for choosing that room as his dungeon in the first place, but Dick's thrashing was making it difficult as Bruce had to keep adjusting his balance to hold him. The boy dug his heels into the carpet, hoping to tear it.

"After all I've done for you," Bruce grunted. "I took you in... I gave you a home," he growled as Dick caught his neck with his skull and slammed his shoulder into the meaty torso of the billionaire. "The best school, the best food..." Dick had the impression that Bruce was talking more to himself than to the fighting teen in his arms, as if he had a checklist of what justified rape. It made him laugh, and a strange high pitched noise escaped his mouth that was a mixture of a whine and a snigger.

"You're a monster, Bruce. A fucking monster! I hate you and I wish you were dead," he told him, and it felt good to be so honest. He turned his face towards his guardian's and spat.

Another punch sent him flying into the wall, knocking the wind out of him and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. The strange laugh changed into sobs now - a transformation that was almost indecipherable - and Dick struggled to get his arms under him and see past the stars blinding him.

"I know wha' you are, Bruce..." His nose was blocked and he found it hard to speak clearly. "You- you're just an orphan, like me. You think we... we're the same," Dick shook his head helplessly, from one side to the other "But we're not. You're _evil_, you just won' admit it. You like to ...ah- pretend you're doing good-"

"Shut up."

"-But you're not and you know it." There was blood running down his face and he realized what caused his nose to be blocked. Blood and loose teeth slurred his words and Dick had trouble putting his thoughts into words, his sentence starting to make less sense the more he talked.

"Daddy died and... you got bored and forgot what- what's right and wrong... wanted to-"

"_Shut up_!"

"Mommy lef'... left you alone," at this point there were tears falling down his cheeks, mixing with the blood on his face and Dick had trouble breathing.

"...so 'ow you f-fuck little boys 'cause you think... you think- love you when nobody else will."

Dick finally managed to prop himself up and turn his face towards his guardian and look him in the face, try to see what damage his words were doing, but his eyes wouldn't focus.

"But that- that doesn't- I don't love you I HATE YOU! Makes me hate you mo' and more, I hate you! _I hate you_! Nobody loves you, not the people who take your picture... assholes who... who work for you, _nobody_! They all jus' hate you, b-because there's 'othing good about you at all! _They hate you!_"

Dick didn't even know what he was saying. He'd never thought these things before, and he wasn't thinking about them now. All he knew was he wanted to tell the truth, here and now, on this night, because he might not see another one. Maybe he looked pathetic and crazy, gabling and bleeding on the floor, but if only one of his words hit their mark, made that bastard flinch, Dick would smile.

Bruce marched over and drove his shoe into the boy's stomach as if he wanted it to come out the other side and tears sprang to Dick's eyes, but he kept talking – accusing – soundless, airless, just his lips moving as blood ran back into his mouth.

He rolled onto his side and cracked his eyes open, and noticed the butler standing on the steps. The old man had frozen half-way and was only visible from the thighs up, but for the first time there was a notable expression on his face: one of horror. The old man's eyes were wide and his white-gloved hand covered his mouth. He must have been drawn by the noise they were making and heard what Dick had said.

A twinge of fear went through him as the butler's reaction told him just how deep he was digging his own grave, but he pushed that away. It was too late to stop now. He had opened the box and the bodies of Bruce's parents had come spilling out as if from a coffin, rotting and stinking and hideous as the tomb yawned wide. He was shouting whatever came to his mind.

"And here's the b-butler, coming to help his master... Bet he ha' practice... Maybe lil' Brucey's... only doing what others... to him... Maybe Daddy Wayne... little boys too and-"

At the mention of Bruce's father, Alfred marched across the gap between them and slapped him harshly across the mouth, stopping his words and finally getting blood on those pristine white cotton gloves.

"_How dare you_ besmirch the name of this house's founder? Thomas Wayne was a _good_ _man_!" the butler scolded, trembling with outrage.

"And his son isn't?" Dick was glad he had managed to say that clearly at least, but his vision swung in and out of focus as he watched the old butler try to find a reply. The boy smiled, he had scored one small victory at least, but as his lips parted an alarming amount of blood trickled from his mouth to the clean carpet of the hallway. His head spun and he swayed into the wall with a hollow thud.

Alfred drew back as if disgusted by the sight. Bruce was standing beside him, glaring down at the boy curled at his feet, breathing hard through his nose with his fist balled at his sides.

With nothing to say, the butler ignored the boy and turned to the master. "I thought we had agreed to keep this business contained to your father's study? You promised not to defile your father's house!"

Dick was shocked to hear that tone being used between them, almost as if Alfred was in charge. That must have been how it was between them when Bruce was a child.

Bruce glanced at the old man then, the voice of his surrogate father bringing him back to the moment. "But he's fighting me," he explained, as if he were a boy himself.

Alfred twitched for a moment and looked back down at Dick, who had the sudden feeling that this man now had the power to decide his fate. For as long as he had been in the manor, Bruce had commanded Alfred who had always followed obediently, sacrificing the boy to the chain of command. But now, through Dick's resistance and accusations, the power had shifted, returned maybe to what it had been twenty years ago, when the boy-Wayne had been at the command of the old butler.

Alfred had facilitated Dick's torture, but he had not caused it. He did not seem to desire it. Now the old man was faced with a choice.

For a moment, Dick begged Alfred with his eyes, implored him to help him escape. One last chance for hope glimmered through the bars of his cage.

But the butler looked away. "Take him inside the study then. He should behave in there." With a closed expression, the old man bent and lifted Dick by his shirt front, pushing him into Bruce's hands. Then he spoke directly to wrestling boy, straightening his T-shirt as he did so. "Stop fighting and it will be over soon," he counselled. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult? Be still and it won't hurt." He glanced at his master's face, then back at the boy. "You will have to be punished, but I will see to your wounds as usual."

"_Fuck you_," Dick spat as he recognised his sentence being passed. The old man had chosen not to help him, siding forever with the manor and its evil master. Alfred's allegiance was unshakeable, and a stray orphan with every claim to sympathy and justice but none to the stones and stories of the walls around him would get nothing from the ever-loyal manservant.

Alfred's face closed off, the shutters coming down on his brown eyes and the blank, unseeing stare returning. His grey eyebrows drew together and the corners of his lips turned down in disapproval of the language, but he knew it was not his place to punish the boy. It was the master's, and he would let the brute do it.

"You asshole! You shit-" Dick threw everything he had at the old man as he felt himself being pulled backwards once again, out of reach of the butler who merely stood, shoulders back and arms behind him as if waiting for an order in the dining room and this was nothing more than breakfast.

Dick's words choked into grunts and screams of frustration as he fought against Bruce's iron arms, throwing his weight in every direction, but his arms were pinned and his feet off the ground. He couldn't get any leverage and he felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum, just a misbehaving infant next to his guardian. No, worse, like an insect, something small and insignificant; invisible and inaudible and of no consequence, being moved from one cage to another by an uncaring farmer.

"No! No! Alfred!" he screamed. There were still things he wanted to say. "_Alfred!_ You did this to me! This is your fault too! _Argh, let go of me!_ You never helped me! Don't you dare think you're innocent, I won't forget-"

The door of the forbidden room was coming close and Dick threw himself against the arms holding him hard enough to hurt. He screamed because he knew he couldn't escape the torture that was coming.

"I HATE YOU! I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN! _I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL_!"

His rage gave him energy and he struggled in Bruce's grip, this time trying not to escape but to wound.

Alfred was almost out of sight, his back an unforgiving wall of professionalism as he calmly headed back downstairs, not once turning to look back as Dick was dragged inside the forbidden room. The air inside was dusty and made breathing that much more difficult - the boy felt like he was drowning and Bruce was the one holding his head underwater.

"You _fucker_!" he screamed, tears running down his face, angry beyond thought at everyone he could name. His voice cracked, turning high pitched and genderless as he reverted back to the frightened form of a child. Bruce squeezed, his muscles bending the boy's sore ribs and Dick cried and writhed in agony, unable to resist giving the man what he wanted anymore. Bruce dropped him, a boneless mess on the floor, and he turned to lock the door. Dick cried, turning his face into the filthy carpet, knowing it was no escape. He had no words left, no thoughts.

What Bruce said or did after that, he wouldn't remember. Dick wouldn't be able to say, even to himself, if it had been rape or just a beating. The rhythm that wracked his body, rocking him in flashes of pain, could have been either. Touches like cruel lightning in the most vulnerable of places, seemingly so simple, but Dick could feel the pressure on his mind as it bent and came close to breaking. Bruce remained emotionless, as if he was just passing on a lesson, one in the art of torture.

'_I'm going to die,'_ the boy thought hopelessly _'This is it. My life ends here.'_

And yet Bruce kept going, like some kind of a terrible machine and Dick's body was on _fire_. Matters of justice and morality were steadily being burned out of him. Yes it was wrong, so wrong, but it was happening and those arguments couldn't defend him. If he was strong he could fight, he could be a weapon of right and wrong, but he was weak. So weak he felt like his body was falling apart under Bruce's ministrations, like his skin would melt off his bones and his skeleton would continue to cry because that was all it knew how to do anymore. What was right and wrong to him? What should it matter that he didn't deserve this? All he knew was the pain and the brief moments of silence his jailer gifted him with to spend trying to crawl away, like a pathetic worm, before bloody hands caught him again and pulled him back into the pit, to show him more of pain and cruelty and evil pleasure.

It was the most brutal session Dick ever had to endure and by the end of it even Bruce was left sweaty and shaking, his shallow breaths echoing in the dark room. The beast lowered itself next to the boy and seized him by the neck to keep him from sitting up.

Bruce's face settled once again, the ripples of his demonic anger passing from the surface, exorcised at least for the moment. Dick could only shake in silent horror as the grip on his neck turned into a caress.

"This is because of the trip, isn't it?" Bruce asked, his tone concerned as if- As if he was _worried_ about Dick, Jesus fucking Christ-

"Nno isz..." Dick responded but his mouth was all kinds of fucked up and he couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Leaving the manor is bad for you," the man diagnosed as if Dick hadn't spoken at all. His large hand was moving up and down the boy's throat in a hypnotic motion, filth from the rug rolling and grating over his skin. The short sentences, the soothing tone of voice, it really was like hypnotism, seeds of a new truth falling into the boy's mind against his will. No argument could be made.

"You'll have to stay here from now on... No more trips..." the billionaire decided in a whisper, talking more to himself than to the boy, soothing the monster inside him and reassuring it that its little pet wasn't going anywhere.

Dick let out a pained noise, shutting his eyes as more tears threatened to spill.

This was all so terribly pointless, he realized. Bruce didn't see him as a person, he didn't have the ability to hurt his guardian or even change his mind. He was just an animal to him, an object, a possession; something that wasn't responsible for its actions, something that was just _there_, ready to be trained and shaped into whatever Bruce wanted it to be.

The man's hand moved to the short locks, petting the boy.

"You'll stay home this week," he spoke again, gently nudging the boy's face to test the extent of the damage. The man seemed satisfied with what he saw because he moved back to the hair and continued fingering it absently.

Dick's eyes stared over his guardian's shoulder, fixed on the small point between the curtains where the moon shone through the window-glass. He thought about Batman, whether there was somebody out there who needed the hero's help more than Dick right now. Probably yes, but it still felt like he was the only one hurting in the world, that no one could be hurting more than him right then. He fantasized about Batman crashing through the window, a fierce black shadow of justice. The seal of the forbidden room would be broken, the night air, the outside world would be let in at last, and Batman would _destroy_ the sin inside. He would vanquish Bruce's evil and Dick's pain with jagged pounding fists and heavy black boots. Bruce would know powerlessness then, he would know pain and humiliation as Dick had known them, and the boy would have justice.

Justice.


	39. The Boy in Recovery

Chapter 39: The Boy in Recovery

Sunlight lit the boy's room. Birds could be faintly heard outside, their singing muffled by the thick walls of the Manor. The windows were now locked, presumably to keep him from jumping, so the air was warm and thick. The boy could hardly tell though; he didn't know the taste of anything else. The room was still and silent, as if uninhabited and left abandoned, but a small repetitive tick of movement in one end contradicted this. The boy's breathing carried on in a steady, unchanging rhythm like the emotionless counting of a clock, and Dick paid it the same amount of attention.

He lay still in his plush bed, uncaring of what time it was or when he had last moved. To move hurt, and what was there to get up for anyway? The thick, downy covers and mattress might as well have been concrete for all he could have escaped them. His body lay encased, warm and floating, too tired to sting or itch. The boy stared at the wall, and let his mind go, every once in a while blinking back into awareness to see if reality had changed at all before flitting away again.

A quiet tap at his door failed to rouse him, but it didn't matter - his visitor needed no invitation to enter. The old man came in, a silver tray in his hands. He strode across the room as if he was alone, and laid the tray on the desk. He had left the door open, presumably because he found the atmosphere of slow death in the room stifling.

Turning around, the old man pulled back the covers on the bed, exposing the boy's naked body. The boy didn't appear to notice, his breathing still ticking on in its unchanged, regular pattern, green eyes still turned on the wall. Brusquely lifting limbs to check bandages, stitches, and splints, the butler then replaced the bag feeding the drip that led into the boy's hand, and gave him another injection. Since he wouldn't eat, or swallow any of the medication he was given, these things had become necessary.

Finished with his nursing, the old man looked down at the still boy. "You won't be indulged this way much longer, Master Dick," he said. "You will be expected to behave yourself when you return to school."

Dick gave no reply, though the butler's words stoked distant, half-dead fires inside him.

Unsatisfied, Alfred leant over his patient, and gripped the boy's mottled face, turning it towards him. The dull green eyes stared up at him, glassy and unresponsive. Eventually, the boy blinked and the butler sighed, laying the head back down in its original position.

Dick listened to him leave and silence retake the room, perfectly still except for the rhythmic twitch of his lungs under the covers, and now the ticking jab of his sluggish tongue against his new plastic teeth.

oOo

It had been days. Four days and yet all eternity. Four days since that dark, blurry night when he had said no to Bruce, and something like a year since his parents had fallen to their deaths. He knew he would be able to look back on what he had done four days ago in time, but for now the wound was still too raw, so red and pulsing and scary. He couldn't bear to remember, to relive it, so he didn't. Just like when his parents had died, he felt cold, weak, and fragile. And just like when his parents died, Wayne Manor was there to shelter him, the same bed that he lay in now was there to hold him. He had stepped into the cage that he had yet to escape, he was still captured by the same walls, pinned by the same damn comforter.

Alfred was keeping him alive now, Dick had stopped bothering. If Alfred wasn't under orders to fix him up, Dick would just let himself rot to death in that bed. Maybe that was the drugs talking, making him sluggish and depressed. A bitter laugh crossed his mind; painkillers were the least of his concerns.

Four days and he was starting to come out of his waking coma. He interrupted the rhythm of his breathing with a sigh or a pause every few hours, and his gaze ventured from the wall to the window to the desk and back again. He twitched a finger under the covers sometimes, or moved a toe. And frequently his tongue rubbed back and forth on his new plastic molar, the largest of the teeth Bruce had got to replace the ones he had lost four days ago.

When Dick had first woken up on that day following that dark night, he could barely move from all the medication. He felt as if his skin was made from cotton wool, under which lurked throbbing puddles of injury without pain, sloshing bruises and dancing cuts and waving grazes. His soft squishy tongue spilled through holes in his mouth where his teeth used to be, and he felt like he was wearing someone else's face as a mask which had slipped in his sleep, it was so lumpy and ill-fitting. His eyes were swollen shut, his nose was strapped down, and his mouth tasted terrible. The drugs were confusing his commands to his muscles, so the best attempt at movement he could make was to twitch and flop on the bed like a fish on a boat left to suffocate instead of being put out of its misery.

Alfred had been sitting by his bedside that day when he woke up, and once the old man saw his charge was awake, he began checking him over: temperature, responsiveness, and so on. He had talked to Dick, fussing over him like a mother, offering reassurances that he would heal in no time, letting him know how long he had been asleep, and asking him questions about how he felt. Dick answered by purposefully drooling on the butler's gloved hand, soiling the white fabric as a reminder of the night before; the best he could do in his weakened state. The boy felt he got his message across though, as the butler withdrew his hands in disgust, and from then on resumed a more disinterested doctoring.

On the second day, Alfred entered his room late in the afternoon and, without looking at him or saying a word, set a large gas canister down beside the bed. Dick moaned in alarm, terrified, but still unable to speak properly. The butler turned valves on the canister, and there was an audible hiss of gas. He waved the attached plastic mask in front of his face, sniffing for the gas, and judged that it was working.

"Wh-wh-wh-" the boy tried to ask, pulling his face away and looking at the old man with wild eyes, but Alfred ignored him, strapping the breathing mask over his mouth and nose. Dick struggled, but Alfred merely pinned the covers down on either side of his shoulders, and with his mess of injuries, bandages and drugs, Dick couldn't free his arm. The gas drained what little strength his fear had given him, and just before oblivion overtook him, he watched the old butler walk from the room.

Now alone, powerless against the gas feeding into his lungs, tears slipped from the boy's eyes as he contemplated what a cruel and unfeeling way it was to dispose of him, but he had to admit the heartless efficiency was just like Alfred.

oOo

When he woke up, he was so groggy he could move even less than before, but from the caged feeling of his tongue and what little sense he could get from it, he realised the gaps in teeth had been filled in. Then the pain in his gums reached him and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The third day was when he found the drip in his arm and decided to stop playing. Why pretend he had any control over his life when he so clearly didn't? He had been constantly spied on, manipulated, beaten and healed, violated and entered against his will. He couldn't control his school life, with all his classes being chosen for him, and his teachers in Bruce's pockets. He was allowed only the skeleton of a social life, and that had come with a price of its own. He ate and wore what he was given, without complaint. And at night, he couldn't defend himself against the desires of his guardian, no matter how hard nor how many times he tried.

And now, without a single word of it to him, they had performed surgery on him. The new teeth were permanent; he could only assume they were drilled into his skull. They had rendered him unconscious against his will, and physically altered him. This was different than knocking the teeth out, this felt more like rape. They had stripped him of his right to choose, his right to an opinion. They had declared that the personality and mind that made up Dick Grayson did not matter anymore, only the body.

And the body had to be perfect, of course.

If they wanted to control him, make him dance like a puppet, then he would not help them by keeping himself alive. They could take control of that too.

Late in the evening of the fourth day, however, Dick was woken by a brief, electronic tone. His eyes opened slowly. For a long time, he just lay there, watching his dark room remain still and unchanged. Then another noise: a single beep as a reminder.

He knew what the noise was, and had he been healthy, he would have leapt up immediately, but in his current state... It was his mobile phone, the electronic leash Bruce had placed on him, another mechanism of control and surveillance. Only three people had the number: Bruce, Alfred, and Richard Rawn. Richard. His friend. His only and best friend.

The phone beeped again. Dick knew it wasn't going to be Bruce or Alfred who had texted him. That would have been ridiculous, they were in the mansion with him. It must have been Richard. Kind, caring, worrying Richard texting to find out why he hadn't been to school all week, or to tell him something about the outside world, give him a glimpse into another universe.

_Beep._

Every beep was louder than the last. Dick lay still, carelessly considering whether to answer or not. It was unlikely that the sound would carry far enough throughout the manor to reach either Alfred or Bruce, but there were probably microphones hidden in his room. Which would mean they already knew. So there was no point in answering. He should just go back to sleep.

_Beep._

Urgh, but that sound would keep him up, and probably continue all through the night until Alfred came in the morning, and then what would he say? But to answer meant to get up, to get out of the bed he had not even rolled over in for four days. He hadn't tested his body in four days, letting it stiffen and atrophy and waste – _could_ he even get up? He didn't know how bad his injuries were. His legs felt like lead.

_Beep._

Getting up felt like letting Bruce win. Showing any sign of recovery felt like letting Bruce off the hook. Dick wanted the man's toy to be broken beyond use, so that he would be left alone. If he became functional again, he knew what would happen; Bruce would start summoning him to the forbidden room again.

And more than that, getting up just felt _so hard_. It was like he had melded to the bed, like a mountain lay on top of him. To get up now would start a process he wasn't sure he wanted to start, but what would the alternative be? If he admitted to himself that he had strength, he would have to continue fighting, continue living, go back to the same system of endless lying and pretending nothing was wrong, and he just felt _so tired_.

_Beep._

Richard's face came to Dick's mind. Richard's smiling, handsome face, with blonde hair, blue eyes, a cheeky, crooked smile; everything Dick was not, but something he could have been, once. Then Dick saw his friend's face as it had looked at him in concern, eyes creased by worry, lips bitten thin as he held back from asking, waiting to be told instead.

Damn him, and damn that face.

Dick located his fingers. They responded. That was good. He pulled his elbow up, pushed feebly at the covers, which separated from him reluctantly. The cold air rushed in, chilling his beaten body. He took a minute to rest before beginning the task of moving his legs.

When he finally grit his new teeth and forced his leg off the bed, he felt as if the bones themselves were bruised. His body was so stiff, it could hardly have been worse if he had been lying in a tomb for a hundred years. Nevertheless, the more he moved, the better it became, and he managed to stand without falling over, though he did sway. Then he made his way to his bathroom, wheeling the drip with him.

He knew he couldn't simply get the phone from his bag in case Bruce was watching through his cameras, or if he reviewed the tapes later. Instead, he headed for the bathroom, stumbling into his desk and knocking his schoolbag to the floor, then he carried on without picking it up.

Once in front of the mirror, he felt like crying. His face was a mess of purple, green and red. It was so swollen and bandaged that he could barely find his own eyes, and even they did not look as familiar as they should have. He had never been vain, but he felt in that moment that he could sympathise with Frankenstein's monster, a hideous creature made for the curiosity and amusement of one sick individual, barely human and with no place in the world.

The rest of him wasn't much better. He had lost weight, and now his ribs stuck out worse than ever. Bruises flowered all over his skin, and his right wrist was in a cast. He looked down at his lower half and found stitches crawling up his shin like a horrific centipede. Two of his toes were crooked. The last two fingers on his left hand were splinted. A sheet of something hard wrapped his ribs on his left side. A host of cuts and scratches decorated his chest, shoulders and back.

His lips were swollen and stitched but he ignored the chaps to peel them back over his teeth, leaning forward to get a better look at his new teeth. They fit in perfectly with his natural ones in size and colour, but after a moment of scanning, Dick identified them all. They were still strange to him, not what had been there before. They were different in texture, temperature, and overall feel, not to mention that his gums were still sore from the surgery. Nobody else would be able to tell, but he would. He supposed that in time he would stop noticing them, but for now his tongue returned to rubbing itself sore against a plastic molar, subconsciously trying to push the invader out, erode it, or carve it into the correct shape of the tooth it had replaced.

Stopping himself for a moment, he stuck his tongue out. It was very pale, with a nasty layer of yellow on top.

Disgusted with himself, and aware of a new desire to feel human again, Dick used the toilet then returned to the sink to wash up. He cleaned dried blood from his face and brushed his teeth thoroughly, but could do little more than that given his bandages and stitches. Tomorrow he would ask Alfred to get him ready for a shower. For now though, another insistent beep reminded him why he had got up in the first place.

He flicked off the light and limped back to his bedroom, stopping by his desk to pick up his bag. Using his body and the desk as cover, he pulled out his phone and tucked it against his palm, which he then pressed against his chest as if his ribs were hurting him. Bag back on the desk, he shambled painfully back to bed, climbed in and pulled the covers over his head, every action taking three times as long as usual.

Under the covers, he was free to read his messages hidden from the cameras. He doubted the light from the screen would shine through such a thick duvet. _One New Message: Richard Rawn_ was written across the display. He pressed it, and the message opened.

_Hey, r u alright? U havent been in school..._

Dick's heart gave a lurch. Richard was worried about him. Maybe he would start asking questions again. But there was also a warm tingle; someone in the outside world had noticed he was missing, they cared. Bruce wouldn't get away with just locking him up forever if someone on the outside cared.

The message was short and to the point, but hid an ocean of things unsaid. Dick knew Richard believed his bruises to have come from McTravis' bullying, so maybe he would believe Dick if the boy told him he was just sick. Was that the story Bruce was putting around? Dick didn't remember. The way he looked, it would be more believable if Dick said he had been hit by a car, but that would be too complicated. He would have to say where and when he had been hit, by whom, make up a hospital visit, give long-term updates on legal proceedings because Bruce Wayne would take the driver for everything he had. Illness, on the other hand, could strike at any time. A bad flu could keep him off school for two weeks.

_Fine, _he typed out. _Just sick. _He sent the reply and closed his eyes. Was that the right thing to do?

He was just starting to drift off again when the phone chimed again, lighting up and buzzing in his hand. _One New Message: Richard Rawn._

_Oh :( Hope u feel better soon. When do u think ull be coming back?_

Dick counted the days he had spent as a ghost in his room, unmoving in his bed - less than a week. From what he had seen in the mirror, he wouldn't be going back for a while.

_I don't know. Another week maybe._

_Is it serious? _

_No, I'll be fine. _It was funny how he was always 'fine,' and yet he hadn't been since his parents died. Never could he let anyone see what he was going through. Life as he knew it depended on everyone believing he was fine, and it was all just a huge lie.

_So, will u b coming to practice?_

Dick winced. There was no way the bruises on his body would have faded by the time he was sent back to school, not to mention his more serious injuries. His wrist was badly sprained, his fingers probably broken... He wouldn't be able to do gymnastics for maybe another month, and the end of term was coming up. He might not be able to go to another team meeting before then, which meant he would probably be missing the show. Damn Bruce, Goddamn him.

_I don't know... Probably not for a while._

_Oh ok. How are you feeling?_

_Pretty rough. _

_What did the doctor say?_

_Doctor?_ Dick thought bitterly. If a real doctor knew about him, Bruce would be in jail by now. No, Dick was lucky enough to have his own personal physician, supplied for him by his captor, and who was free of any of those pesky Hippocratic morals.

But it was time to start lying again.

_I'll get over it._

oOo

After that night, Richard became a lifeline for Dick. Their back-and-forth texting kept him connected to the outside world, reminded him that there was more than Wayne Manor and its master. The senior kept him updated on school, and just generally provided comfort and company. The boy didn't see Bruce again until the second week, when he began taking his meals at the dining table again, and before that, Alfred kept his visits to Dick's bedroom short, only taking the necessary time to see to the boy's health, and not making any unnecessary conversation. If it weren't for Richard, Dick would have gone crazy, if he had ever emerged from his fugue at all.

In the second week, Dick had healed enough to move around more freely. Hot showers had eased his stiffness, and the very minor injuries were unnoticeable. He was no longer bothered by the cloud of scrapes and bruises that he had walked in wherever he went. The swelling went down on his face, and his mouth was virtually back to normal.

As he slowly returned to himself, he grew impatient with his bedroom. He began walking around the manor, eating in the dining room or the kitchen, watching TV in the lounge. His phone was always with him, set now to silent so as not to alert Bruce or his butler, but Dick checked it so obsessively that Richard never had to wait for a reply. He never ran into Bruce as he wandered the halls or sat on the couch, but he often crossed paths Alfred as he went about his work. The old man was as quiet as a ghost, so Dick made sure to check he wasn't in the room every time before taking out his phone.

It was funny, it took the worst beating he had ever known to make him use Wayne Manor as a home. It was like it never happened. Neither of the two adults had changed, despite everything he had said to them, screamed at them as he was dragged away. It was like a bad dream.

And as Alfred began to decrease his medication, his nights became filled with them. Terrible nightmares forced him to relive that night over and over in a never-ending flurry of panic and pain. Always in the dreams, he was aware of details he couldn't remember, hadn't noticed during the event itself. He couldn't say how or when his fingers had been broken, but in the dreams they were broken a dozen different times, a dozen different ways, and the pain was always the same. He lost every tooth in his mouth, he was blinded by blows to the eye, blood ran down his skin in impossible rivers but the worst of it all was that, in the dreams, he knew he would never escape, never recover. Broken fingers would be twisted, gnarled and useless forever, his lips would sink in over hollow gums, his view of the world would forever be the tiny slat between his swollen eyelids. Dick had never considered himself vain, but Bruce was making him less than human in that room.

So Dick stopped sleeping. He would usually catch a few hours every night when he inevitably fell asleep in front of the TV, but for the most part, his bed remained empty. It was on one of these nights, still several days before he would return to school, that he was woken from a fretful doze by a name he knew.

"-Joshua McTravis is a young man who suffered a vicious attack in his own home not even two weeks ago that tragically cost him his eye. He comes to the show tonight because not only did he _see_ the Batman before the attack, but he claims the so-called hero _consciously allowed it_. Here to bravely share his story with us tonight, please welcome Josh to the stage."

It was a show Dick had never seen before, one of those late-night, low-budget items that is only allowed on television because the network has to fill awkward slots when nobody is watching. A man dressed like a loan shark was speaking to the camera from a cardboard set, on which two minimalistic armchairs were placed.

The boy watched as events on the show progressed faster than he could process what he had heard. Dick was still reeling from learning that Josh had been attacked when the bully walked across the screen and shook hands with the presenter. Dick recognised the reddish curls immediately, and his pulse jumped as his old enemy sat down, an eye patch clear on his face.

Dimly Dick remembered overhearing something at school about McTravis and Batman, but he hadn't thought...

"Thank you for joining us, Josh," welcomed the presenter, his voice low and soft as if he was dealing with a trauma patient, but he had an eagerness in his face that made Dick uneasy.

"Thank you for having me," Josh replied. His voice had changed; it was hoarse and sharp. His face looked older. The teen had always been angry but this went deeper than that.

"When I heard your story..." the host began. "Well, I just couldn't believe it. No! I could believe it, _of course_ I could - we know what that vigilante menace is capable of on this show - but that he should hurt one so young, so full of promise... I have always hoped it wouldn't come to that. It pains me to see those hopes dashed."

McTravis cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, nodding along with what the man was saying.

The host continued. "I understand how difficult this must be for you, especially so soon after the night in question, but I want you to know this is a safe environment, no one will question your story here. We know you speak the truth. If it's not too much to ask, could you share your story with us? Just in your own words, at your own pace... Tell your story, Josh. _Let the_ _truth about the Batman be known_."

Josh cleared his throat again, rubbing his palms on his thighs. "I was at home." The presenter nodded eagerly and murmured encouragement. "It was late. I was still up because... I had been watching TV. I went up to my room, and I was lying on my bed when... when I heard something from the hall."

Josh took a moment to swallow and collect himself before he continued. It was obvious that remembering was painful for him, and the fear still echoed through his voice. Dick was leaning forward now, fixated on that small black patch marring the teen's face. He just couldn't conceive _how_...

"I got up and... I went to see what it was. There were these men outside my door. Five of them, all dressed in black, with masks on. Three of them grabbed me and carried me back inside. Two of them went to my parents' room." His story was careful and clear, a list of events as facts, one at a time.

"Let me stop you there for a minute, Josh," the host interrupted. "I know a lot of us saw it in the news, but would you mind making clear for us exactly what happened in your parents' bedroom? We're just looking for the truth," he said.

"Uh, well, okay then, um," Josh's narrative had been interrupted and he was stumbling. "The two guys went to my parents' room, where they were sleeping. They tied my dad up, and hit my mom a couple of times, 'cause she was screaming. My dad said they had knives."

"So your parents were in very real danger. In fact, you very nearly became an orphan, is that fair to say?" the host pressed McTravis, his face contorted in sympathy, leaning over the arm of his chair closer to the boy. Dick gave a twitch at the sound of the word 'orphan.'

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Mctravis allowed. "Yeah."

The man shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Poor, poor boy. Please continue. What did the men do to you in that room?"

Josh flinched and looked down at his hands. "Uh, well, they uh..." He cleared his throat. Something painful was coming next. "They held me down, and uh, one of them got on my chest. He pulled out a knife. I tried fighting them but, they uh..."

"We understand, Josh. These were trained killers. There was nothing you could have done." The host's voice was thick and slow like cold treacle as he reached out and gripped Josh's hand in a display of sympathy.

Dick could barely believe what he was hearing. This had to be some strange dream. But McTravis' face was so real.

"Yeah, yeah..." McTravis nodded in agreement. "Anyway, the main guy, the one on my chest, with the knife, he, er, he said he had a... a job to do. They talked about me as if I wasn't even there! As if they couldn't hear me scr-!... As if they couldn't hear me."

"What was their job, Joshua? What sent these monsters to you house on that terrible night?" The presenter's voice quivered like a preacher's.

Josh replied in a desiccated whisper. "They said they were there to take my eye."

The host hissed and sat back. "That's a terrible thing, a terrible thing..." he said. "And you have no idea why they had been given that mission, even today, do you, Josh?"

The teen scowled and shook his head. "No," he growled.

"The police... haven't been able to figure it out."

Josh shook his head again, his scowl deepening.

"It was then that you saw Batman, is that right?" the presenter pressed, shifting forward again.

"...Yes..." The voice that came out of Josh then sent a chill down Dick's back. It rumbled deep and dark from the teen's chest as his hands gripped the armrests, turning white. It was like bubbling lava, almost demonic. The voice was tortured by deep layers of hate and bitterness, past the point of sanity.

"What happened, Josh? In your own words?"

"He was there..." The voice hadn't changed, and the way the boy's body was fixed so rigidly in the chair, it was as if the man was conversing with someone hypnotised, or possessed.

"Where was he, Josh? For the people at home." The presenter's voice had become rushed and eager as they finally got onto the topic he had been waiting for: Batman's great betrayal of a teenage boy.

"In the doorway... Watching. He was just watching. I saw him. I screamed to him for help but he just looked at me. He just looked at me and didn't do anything. He wanted me to be hurt. He wanted me to lose my eye."

"Are you saying Batman planned the attack?" the host prompted, clearly hoping for a yes answer.

Josh seemed to recover from his trance a little. He faced his interviewer. "I don't know. I don't know why he would. I never did anything to him. I'm nobody. My family doesn't have any money, and they didn't even ask for a ransom or anything. They didn't give me a chance! I can't think why...!" For a moment, he sounded like a lost kid, then the hate returned. "But I know this: he was there. At first I thought I was crazy but my parents saw him too, he was there. He just chose not to help me."

"He left, didn't he, Josh? He left you at the mercy of those... _assassins_."

Josh nodded, his lip shaking. "Look what they did to me..." he whined, looking at the presenter as if to a father or a priest, someone who was supposed to have answers and be able to fix things. "They took my eye..." His shaking fingers touched the patch on his face briefly.

The host pulled McTravis' hand away from where his eye used to be and squeezed it. "Tell me what happened," he urged softly.

"They told me, if I was good, if I didn't move, they wouldn't hurt me, and I could get a glass eye, and no one would ever know..." Tears were crawling down his face now, but the host did not let him go. "I tried, but I couldn't... I couldn't..." The boys face crumpled, and Dick had the sick thought that his crying would get the patch wet.

"There's not enough left for a replacement eye, is there, Josh? They cut too deep, the muscle is too damaged..."

Josh nodded. Dick could only watch the spectacle unfold as he watched his enemy break down and cry on television, still too stunned by what he was hearing to feel anything.

"And Batman?"

"He saved my parents," the teen whined, able to compose himself a little with that thought, that he still had his mother and father. Dick ignored a dark, envious impulse in himself. So what if McTravis had lost an eye? Dick would give his up if it meant he could have his family back.

"But he left you?" the host reminded Josh, as the boy wiped at his face.

"Yes."

"Now, it says in the papers that Batman was _too late_ to save you. From what you told us, that's not true. What do you have to say to those people who argue that, well, Batman saved lives? That he made a _calculated decision_ to prevent the murder of your parents, rather than the taking of your eye?"

Josh sniffed, and put his hands down. "It's not true. Batman couldn't have known my parents were in trouble, or if they were alive or dead. From where he was standing, he couldn't have known that. And what kind of monster would ignore me?"

"Quite." The presenter turned to the camera then, speaking directly to his audience. "What kind of _monster_ would ignore the pleas of a teenager, pinned by _three grown men_, with a knife being held to his face? It's just inhuman. It's criminal. _Batman_ _is a_ _criminal_ and this _poor boy_ is his victim." He turned back to his guest. "Josh, what are you going to do now? You still don't know why this brutal attack took place. I understand that the perpetrators are... unable to be questioned?"

Josh nodded, his expression dark and determined. "They can't talk. They're in comas, or brain-damaged, or had to have their jaws wired shut and both hands put in casts. It's too convenient. Batman must have done it after I passed out. He must be behind it all, or working for the guy who is. They told me they had a job to do, somebody must have paid for it, and I'm going to find out who, starting with Batman."

The presenter raised his eyebrows at the camera. "No mean feat," he said, as if half-impressed, half-sceptical.

Josh dropped his gaze.

"Well, it's not like I can go back to school now, looking like this. Everyone thinks I'm crazy or making it up. I think we're probably going to have to move soon, maybe to another city, to get away from it all..." he said.

"Understandable, perfectly understandable. And let me just say that, Josh, we believe you, and you have our full support," the man said solemnly, laying his hand over Josh's briefly before turning towards the camera. "Unfortunately, that's all we have time for tonight so we're going to have to end this broadcast here. I hope you have all learned something from this brave teen's harrowing tale - not to trust a man just because he wears a cape. The media and the police may have bought Batman's hypocrisy, but we know that he is a terror and threat to Gotham City that needs to be eradicated as soon as possible, as proved, I think, once and for all by what we have heard here tonight. Goodnight, viewers. Be vigilant."

With that, the program ended and an infomercial started up. Dick fumbled for the remote in a daze and clicked the TV off. Suddenly enveloped in black silence, the boy stayed frozen, his mind running with what he had seen and heard. McTravis had been attacked? _They had cut out his eye?_ Batman had been there, but he hadn't helped, and there were no witnesses other than a traumatised teenage victim, who just so happened to be the school bully? It didn't make sense!

Why wouldn't Batman help? Obviously he wasn't behind it, as McTravis thought. He was there to help, despite what the teen said. Batman had saved lives. Maybe he had just made a calculated decision, or maybe McTravis was lying. Maybe the older boy had seen Batman there, but not standing in his doorway, looking on as he had his eye cut out. There had to be some explanation.

Desperate to prove his hero innocent, Dick shuffled as fast as he could to his seldom-used computer on his desk. He didn't worry about the cameras, his guardians must have known about his insomnia by now, and what difference would they see between him staying up all night on the computer or in front of the TV?

Once the machine was booted up, Dick found a search engine and quickly typed in "McTravis, Batman, attack." Several newspapers seemed to have covered the story, and he read every article he could find. He didn't learn anything new, other than the date of the attack. It had been the night he had returned from the trip. He frowned; the attackers must have known exactly when McTravis was away and when he would be back.

But why? Why attack a kid and leave the parents unharmed? Josh was clearly the priority, he was the 'job.' Why try to kill the parents, who were financially ruined, and maim the heir? The only reason could be to send a message, but to who? The only other motive would have been revenge, but the target would have had to have been Josh, since his parents weren't intended to survive. Why though? What had Josh done that had warranted such an attack?

Images of the bully rolled through the boy's head. Josh had never been anything but antagonistic towards him, culminating in their fight at the hotel. Now Dick had to feel sorry for him. What would happen to him now? How would he recover? But the big question was what he had said about Batman. Obviously, he had got it wrong. He had to have. But still Dick had the nagging feeling that he was missing something, that there was more to the story than even Josh knew. The big 'Why?' was still unanswered, and in the silent dark of his room, so often his sickroom, Dick shivered.


	40. Author's Note

Author's Note:

We would just like everyone to know that AmberSpirit has taken care of uploading this fic on ArchiveOfOurOwn here: /works/366367/chapters/595251?view_adult=true

We will keep posting on as long as we can, this is just so that IF we get deleted, you guys can still follow the story.


	41. The Boy's Potential

Chapter 40: The Boy's Potential

Dick expected to start school again on Monday, but that only made waiting through the weekend all the more intolerable. It had been two weeks, and all his bandages had been removed. There was still a lot he couldn't do without feeling a twinge or an ache, but he walked without a limp and his face looked basically normal. As long as he was careful, nobody at school would suspect.

Now that he could move around more freely, the manor felt stuffy and restrictive. Dick hadn't spent so long trapped in the dreary place since he had started going to school. Even during the school holidays, Bruce always signed him up for extra classes like computing and Japanese. The boy needed to get out, even if it was just to Allen Bex Academy. There at least, he could hear voices, conversations, laughter, footsteps. He could see smiles. He could pretend for a moment that he had a normal life too. He couldn't pretend that in the cloying air of Bruce's mansion.

Dick sighed again in frustration and anger, his recently permanent frown digging deeper on his forehead. Walking the halls of the expansive house was hours of exercise, but Dick knew the place inside out by now; there was no excitement in it, nothing to occupy his mind... Other than what had happened to McTravis, of course. It was strange, so strange, but Dick couldn't figure it out no matter how many hours he spent thinking about it. He knew he was missing something, something important, something that he felt he should know, like he had known it once but forgotten about it. The key element to everything making sense was a prickle in the back of his mind but he just couldn't reach it. It didn't make sense.

But things had stopped making sense when his parents died. He might as well ask why Bruce did the things he did, as ask why someone had wanted McTravis' eye dug out. There was no why, no reason that a teenage boy could understand, so he gradually stopped wondering.

But unlike the motivation behind Bruce's perversion, the question of McTravis kept nagging at Dick, scratching at him to be solved. It felt as if the answer was just one domino in a long chain that he was living in, and if he knocked it down, things he could never expect might go with it. It felt like he already knew the answer, but if he ever remembered it, his life would never be the same again, and if Bruce had taught him anything, it was that things could _always_ get worse.

He still didn't see much of Bruce. Being ignored for the past two weeks had confirmed for Dick what he had always suspected: that he had only been brought to Wayne Manor as a toy for the forbidden room. If he wasn't fit enough to be played with, then Bruce had no interest in him. But Dick expected that interest to return very soon – he had not been left untouched for this long since the late night visits began, and once he returned to school, his injuries wouldn't be enough to shield him anymore. He contemplated hurting himself on purpose to prolong this protection, but being trapped inside the manor was driving him crazy and he knew that Bruce would be able to tell accident from intent. It was no use.

Two days, and it would be back to waiting for that midnight knock on his door.

In the meantime, restless was an understatement for how Dick felt. The manor felt as abandoned as always, dusty and neglected. It wasn't any of those things of course, not with Alfred there, but that was the impression Dick got when exploring the muffled and shrouded halls. The outdoor sun didn't seem to penetrate the windows, the air was as still as a tomb's. It was as if there had been no heir to inhabit the house after the death of Bruce's parents, and the house had been shut up for the past couple of decades. The boy had died, and now it was only his shadow that haunted the building.

But Dick was still living. The beating he had received hadn't broken him, not permanently. His spirit was healing as his body grew stronger, and he was growing frustrated again. Angry. His scowl was set hard as he walked without purpose or direction through the endless labyrinth of the manor for the umpteenth time. He trailed his hand against the wall, curling his fingers into claws every now and then to feel his nails catch on the old wall paper. Yes, he wanted to destroy it, destroy the whole house, but he knew that if Alfred found any marks he would be punished. He alternated between the two urges – to destroy and to hide – his hand subconsciously curling and uncurling, his mind on nothing in particular.

He needed to _move_, to push, stretch, do _anything_. His neck was stiff with the tension, he was getting headaches from the inactivity and he was finding it harder to sleep at night. He couldn't even go out into the gardens with the way the adults were keeping him locked indoors.

With the thought of exercise in his mind, he remembered the gym Bruce had installed for him. It didn't have a treadmill, or anything that would tire him out quickly, but there was a punching bag he could work out his frustrations on. He wasn't sure if his body could handle a gymnastics work out, and he had to push that thought away as a bitter taste came to his mouth at the reminder of the extent of what Bruce had done to him.

He found the gym in the small, secluded wing of the ground floor. It still smelt of freshly unwrapped rubber, the mats lying exactly where he and Richard had left them. Dick remembered that day, and what Bruce had made him do seemingly just to remind the boy that he _could_. Dick walked around, his reflection in the wall of mirrors stalking him innocently.

Yes, there was a punching bag, and a variety of weight machines, as well as the gymnastics apparatus. Dick rolled his shoulder, testing the state of his body. It was sore and weak, so unfamiliar to him after having lived a life at the height of physical performance. He was almost a stranger to himself, fading into a shadow just like the rest of the inhabitants of Wayne Manor.

Dick shook his head at himself – that kind of attitude wasn't going to help him in here. Exercise was about positivity, confidence and endurance. The manor hadn't won yet; he could build himself back up.

He needed to stretch first, so he took his time, holding each position good and long, going through every single one he knew. He was lucky he was still dressed like an invalid, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, he would have hated to have had to go back upstairs and change. By the end of his stretches, he was smiling; feeling like he belonged to the Graysons' world again even if it was only for a little while. His body hurt all over and would only get worse, but he was finally doing something productive, and his flexibility hadn't wasted away with his muscle mass at least.

Next he tried his balance, holding different positions on one leg as he counted off a minute in each one. He was starting to sweat by the time he had finished, and he flapped his shirt to fan himself as he finally turned towards the apparatus. He ignored the gymnastics equipment; his shoulders wouldn't be able to hold him and he needed to build his muscles back up for a bit first. He wasn't sure what he could and couldn't do in the state he was in, but if he was going to find out, he would prefer it if he wasn't several feet off the ground. For the first time in his life, Dick Grayson was afraid of falling.

He wanted to try the weight machines, but he had no idea how he should set them, and a couple of them he couldn't figure out what they were supposed to do. There were some small dumbbells on a rack against the wall, and a skipping rope hanging up with some other stuff Dick didn't recognise. He took the rope. He had seen boxers use them on TV for speed and agility. Taking one handle in each hand, Dick tried to spin the rope around him, but he quickly got tangled and gave up, embarrassed. He had never used one before. Any toys he had been given as a child were stereotypical boy-things like a baseball, a toy car and a G.I. Joe. Skipping ropes were typically for girls, and he hadn't known any other kids growing up, he'd had to play by himself.

Giving up, he moved to the punching bag. He had never used on of these either, but the premise was so simple even he couldn't mess it up. He was aware that you were supposed to wear boxing gloves or some sort of protective gear on your hands but he didn't see any nearby and so simply decided to go at it with bare hands.

He stood awkwardly in front of the large black sack and then raised one fist, hitting the bag straight on. It didn't even budge, absorbing the blow easily. He fisted both of his hands and tried again, this time with a series of double punches aiming at the very centre of the bag. It was harder than he assumed; he had to put a lot of strength behind the blow to even make it swing. He built up a tempo - _one, two, one, two, one, two_ - and increased the power with a series of loud grunts. Hitting something made him feel angry but also good; it was as if he was satisfying some very deep urge within himself that he hadn't even known existed.

His punches grew harder, knuckles burning as they made contact with the heavy bag and Dick found himself getting angrier and angrier, hitting the sack with an almost murderous intent. That feeling of helplessness he had been experiencing ever since his parents' death was slowly draining away and replaced by fury. He didn't even realize how much it hurt until he felt something wet on his face that felt too warm to be sweat. Dick stumbled a few steps from the bag and turned away, wiping the tears from his cheeks. When he opened his eyes he saw a tall figure in the doorway.

Bruce.

The boy swallowed and turned away in an attempt to hide his tear-stained face. There was a brief silence and Dick thought he knew what his guardian would have to say. A fake fatherly concern about his healing body, an order to go back to his room or perhaps a sharp scolding. So when Bruce's next words echoed through the large gym, Dick tensed up with surprise.

"There's a better way."

The sound of footsteps coming closer, then a brief pause. When Dick turned to face the man, Bruce was approaching him with bare feet and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up. The boy noticed the discarded shoes and socks by the mattress.

Dick didn't respond to the statement, he simply watched the man step closer. For once, he didn't feel the need to run. He could afford to wait and see and be sure, now that the adrenaline of violence was pumping through him and his fists were numb from the bag. He felt like a fighter, but that was ridiculous. Bruce could and would utterly destroy him. When Bruce arrived in front of him he lifted his hand, and the boy couldn't help but flinch and move away, his temporary feeling of power washed away by the memory of the terrible beating still fresh in his mind.

Bruce looked down at him with disapproval.

"Spread your legs. One step forward. Bend your knees," he ordered, expecting to be obeyed. Dick bristled at the tone, hating to be taught anything by this man. It took a moment but Dick inevitably relented and assumed the stance his guardian described. There was no point in resisting. Bruce looked at his position and nudged Dick's shin with the tip of his foot, moving it closer towards the bag.

"Raise your hands. Form fists. The thumb is on the outside not inside. Punch like that and you'll break it," his guardian stated impatiently and when Dick obeyed, he reached over and grasped the smaller fist with a critical look on his face. He seemed to be satisfied because he moved onto the wrist and straightened it with a firm grasp.

"You hit straight ahead. The bag makes contact with this area - no, keep the wrist firm otherwise you will sprain it."

Dick wanted to shout at him, wanted to demand _'Why does that matter now? You broke everything in me last time, don't you remember?'_ but it seemed so useless. Bruce never gave him any answers.

"Keep your stance relaxed but firm," Bruce went on and when Dick combined the footwork with his raised fists, the man barked a cold "Go!"

Dick hit the bag, putting all his strength behind the hit; with surprise he realized that he did more damage than before. It also hurt a lot less. He was so surprised at the new sensation that he completely forgot about his teacher and when Bruce ordered him to keep going, Dick flinched in shock.

"Harder. Harder!"

His breath was coming in gasps but he kept going; it was that nameless fury that fuelled his persistence, Dick realized. He kept punching the sack even when it hurt and his hands ached from the unfamiliar exercise. There was something almost hypnotic about the constant series of movements; a ritualistic violence that made it hard for him to stop. He knew that whatever happened that day, he would be able to sleep that night.

Bruce must have been saying something but Dick's ears were full of his own heartbeat, the blood rushing madly in his veins, and the pummelling of the bag. When a hand suddenly spun him around, he didn't even think about it and continued to punch. Hands immediately closed around the much smaller fists and trapped them in their palms.

Dick looked up at his guardian with a heavy heart, immediately afraid.

He had just hit Bruce. Now he would have to be punished.

Bruce was looking down at him with an expression he had never seen before; it reminded him of the brief looks of what he assumed passed as affection in his guardian's eyes, but mixed with something else, something new. The man seemed to be deep in thought and what seemed to be a trivial fancy before now turned into serious contemplation.

"Again. The same stance."

Without even thinking about it, Dick moved into the position with his feet apart and hands raised into fists. Bruce grabbed at his wrists again and this time pushed them closer towards the boy's torso with the hands covering the lower part of Dick's face.

"You guard your face with your wrists," he said and then tapped the boy's elbows as he stepped back. "Your body with your elbows."

He then proceeded to copy the boy's stance, looking experienced and dangerous as he loomed over him with raised fists. It seemed effortless when Bruce did it and the boy wondered where his guardian learned this and exactly how skilled at combat he was. This clearly went beyond simple self-defence.

Suddenly one of Bruce's fists shot forward and Dick immediately raised his arm to block the blow. When it made contact with his forearm, the boy realized that it wasn't as hard as he anticipated. For the first time, Bruce was pulling his punches; not because he didn't want to kill the boy, but because he didn't actually want to hurt him at all. This was meant to be informative. Dick was being trained.

"Good," the man said, sounding surprised. Dick peeked up at him through his raised fists, still in his defensive stance as the praise rushed through him like an electric current.

"Have you done anything like this before?"

He was probably asking about fighting. The only time Dick could remember punching anybody was McTravis, and Richard had asked him a similar question the morning after.

'_I'm actually surprised somebody of your stature could give a swing like that. You ever punched anybody before?'_

As a little boy he had always preferred to run rather than stay and fight. He was always outnumbered, and he was fast and could get up into high places, out of reach. The groups of city kids that chased him away from their games scared him, but his superior stamina and quick reflexes saved him from actually suffering any damage. Running and hiding was easy for a small circus boy who was never offered a fair fight.

Dick shook his head to answer Bruce's question and his guardian regarded him with that contemplative look again. He then abruptly stepped back out of his stance. His hand disappeared in his pocket and came out with a car key.

"I'm holding a blade. You're trying to block me," he stated and for a moment Dick thought he was crazy. Then the man stepped forward and raised his hand above his head with sharp instructions. "Wrist to wrist. Do it."

Dick assumed the same stance, raising his hand in defence and when Bruce suddenly stepped forward with the key ready for a stab, the boy was allowed to block him. His guardian stepped back and ordered "Again."

Dick prepared himself, hands at his sides and when Bruce moved forward, he automatically blocked with his wrist taking most of the impact. Like before, the strength behind the movement wasn't great and it was clear that if Bruce was serious he could easily overpower him, block or no block. Dick could tell how much strength and speed was missing from Bruce's attacks - he'd suffered through enough of them before - but the defence must have satisfied his guardian because he stepped back and curtly nodded in approval.

"I attack from the side. You block with your arm," he continued and hunched over in a different position. This was slightly trickier but Dick managed to copy it after a few tries and when Bruce tested him he tried to perform to the best of his ability. The techniques themselves weren't hard; he had always found it easy to learn new sets of movements for performances. His father used to call it the works of his 'smart body' but always made sure to remind him that talent was not a replacement for experience. Dick remembered practicing until he couldn't stand on his own two feet anymore, his mother ruffling his hair affectionately as she carried him back inside their trailer.

'_My tired little Robin...'_

"Put your strength into it!" Bruce ordered and Dick startled awake from the long forgotten dream. He immediately obeyed and with a grunt pushed against his guardian's larger forearm. Bruce was clearly not putting his whole strength into the move but it was still enough to leave the boy sweating and struggling; when his guardian stepped away, Dick stumbled back with an exhausted sigh.

The man in front of him was so large, so incredibly powerful that Dick felt like nothing in comparison. Bruce probably hadn't even felt the pressure his ward put into the block. He was like a small ship trying to swim against the enormous tides of the ocean. Why was Bruce doing this? Why teach him how to hit, how to defend himself? Didn't he know that ultimately it would all be used against him when the time came?

But of course, it wasn't like any of the techniques would even matter against the brute force of Bruce Wayne; Dick posed absolutely no threat to him at all. It was like sparring with a puppy - a completely harmless game with an illusion of equality. Dick would not be able to even begin to touch on Bruce's power for years, so the man had nothing to worry about. He could afford to teach Dick a trick or two to keep him entertained, because he would never be a threat to him.

Bruce was probably only doing this because he was bored, because he wanted to prove to Dick once again that he was the stronger of the two, that he had seen and experienced things Dick never would, not while the billionaire kept him trapped in the mansion. Even if Dick learned to fight, practiced every day, went through the most gruelling training Bruce's sadistic mind could come up with, the man was smart, too smart to teach the boy anything dangerous, anything that could ever be used against him.

His guardian possessed not only the power but also the skill, and Dick realized that he was trained more professionally than he let on. His body didn't look like it got that way just through hours spent at the gym. Dick thought of the time he saw his guardian's naked bandaged chest speckled with scars and bullet wounds. Defending yourself against a knife was not part of a martial art designed for sport or exercise alone.

But Dick had something Bruce didn't. He had hate, and a desire for revenge and freedom and justice that Bruce couldn't even begin to guess the depths of. Dick knew that Bruce probably looked at this as the useless flailing of a short, skinny child, but that meant that he would underestimate Dick's potential. And Dick would wait for that day, for that would be the day he ended it all.

As if sensing Dick's suspicions about him, Bruce left his fighting stance and now simply stood in front of him with hands hanging loose by his thighs. The wild powerful fighter had been reined back in and replaced by this... _thing_ in front of him, full of secrets.

"I think that's enough for now. You should go back to your room and rest."

Dick swallowed the angry question that was already on his tongue and lowered his head. His eyes fell on his knuckles and he realized there were rough scrapes on the soft skin and it was only now that he was able to feel the burning, the utter exhaustion of his weak body. It felt good, and he didn't care how he would explain it if Richard saw the marks. For the first time, he could actually tell the truth if he wanted to. He was innocent.

"I can go on," he stated softly, eyes on the ground, and he made no move to leave. The punching, the movement, the blocking... it all made him feel powerful and good. Like he wasn't defenceless anymore. He found himself thinking of Batman and this only reinforced his need to _know_, to be able to defend himself and in time, perhaps others.

But there was also another reason and it was so unthinkable, so disgustingly naive that he automatically turned away from it with anger. The Bruce Wayne in front of him was different than all the other sides Dick had seen. Bruce had seen something in his ward and held onto that, something that he saw worthy of pursuing. Bruce had never shown any interest in him like this before; any aspects of Dick's life, personality or talent were completely disregarded and only observed from necessity or perhaps some passing curiosity. Bruce never looked at him like this and called him 'good'- not unless the boy was on his knees with the man's cock in his mouth. Dick was not a real person in his guardian's eyes, just something to satisfy his desires, an expensive pet that had yet to lose its glamour.

But this was different. Now Bruce was taking time to interact with Dick on his terms, in an activity that Dick had chosen, at a time that he wanted.

"I can do it," the boy repeated with a tight voice "I can keep going, I'm not tire-"

When something softly touched his jaw, Dick flinched and quickly shut up.

"You have potential, Dick," Bruce said, his voice quiet and intimate. The touch of the man's fingers on the boy's skin made his body hum with tension, hands once again fisted and aching from the exercise. The beating he had received hadn't broken him, but it did change something small and fearful inside. Perhaps it was the fact that now he knew what his guardian was capable of, how far he was willing to go... Bruce's knowledge of the fine line between permanent and temporary body damage was downright unnatural.

The boy found himself breathing heavily, like a cornered animal with no place to hide. Bruce seemed to have noticed because he moved his second hand and slowly raised it, as if to calm an agitated dog. It fell on Dick's shoulder, firmly gripping him through the sweaty t-shirt and the boy pulled at the hold.

He thought for a moment to implement the move he had just used on Bruce himself, to simply raise his fists and strike until he couldn't feel anything anymore. He thought about being the attacker with a knife and Dick wondered for a moment if he would have the courage to stab the man if he was in a possession of a blade. Probably yes. Weren't knife attacks often crimes of passion? He could certainly understand why.

What right did Bruce have to talk about 'potential'? He had robbed Dick of anything he might have once had, along with his dreams and hopes the moment he called him to that disgusting room. There was no potential inside him, just an incredibly hopeless shipwreck of a life left to sink into nothingness. Bruce disfigured him on the inside as cleanly as if he took a blade to the boy's face and Dick doubted he would ever be able to look at his reflection without seeing his guardian's claim on him.

But there was a part of him, no matter how weak, that was so desperate for approval that it was disillusioned enough to seek it from anyone around him. A naive, fairy-tale like wish that once Bruce saw something of worth inside of him, the curse would be lifted and everything would be the way it was supposed to be. Dick thought he was passed that point now, passed the point of even seeing Bruce Wayne as a real person rather than the monster that he was, but it was so hard when the man had such a huge part in his life. If Bruce saw potential in him, then maybe, just maybe he would finally -

- NO. It was a lie! He had thought the same thing before -

- but Bruce had never shown interest, had never taught him - Dick remembered how terrible he was at business politics and how quickly Bruce had stopped trying, not bothering to continue teaching him - Dick was never invited to another party again, was he? But this... this was different and new and he was good at it and Bruce seemed so surprised and almost _impressed _-

- he didn't need to impress the bastard, he hated him! Bruce was a monster and nothing, no lessons, no interest in his ward's life would change that or make what he had done any better -Even if he magically managed to become everything that Dick wanted, it didn't change the fact that he completely destroyed the boy – forever - and left him a filthy, unfixable mess that nobody would ever want-

-but if Bruce wanted him, if Bruce looked at him with pride then maybe he didn't need anybody else to see inside his dirty wretched-

_(Because Bruce knew, didn't he? He knew what Dick looked like on the inside, what had happened to him, what he'd been through, what had been done _to_ him and what he _was_... and he kept coming back. Bruce wanted him the way no one else did - wanted him badly enough to keep him prisoner, to never, ever let him go... And Bruce wouldn't die. Dick knew that. He knew Bruce was too strong to ever be hurt, to ever be taken away from him by some scumbag looking for money...)_

There was a high noise echoing in the large gym, slightly muffled and pained. After a moment Dick realized that it was his own voice and when he opened his eyes he was greeted by sharp whiteness. His hot wet face was pressed against something firm and silky, and when large hands wrapped around his shaking frame, the boy cried even harder. His feelings were so powerful and mismatched and just completely confused that he had no idea what he wanted, what he _felt_ about anything at all. He was torn between a need to crawl into Bruce's arms like a little boy, and to run away from the touch that brought him so much shame and agony. It was frustrating because he longed to feel his father's touch and his strong frame against his own; he needed to be comforted and told that he was going to be fine. But at the same time the sensation of strong male hands on him made him freeze in terror and Dick realized that he would never be able to escape this creeping sickness. If his father was alive, if a miracle occurred and he walked through that door to run over and embrace him... would Dick be able to feel safe in his arms?

The boy didn't know if it was the effects of the long recovery or simply his own slowly deteriorating mental health, but he was an absolute wreck. Body hurting and tired to the point of exhaustion; his internal walls crumbled and gave away under the pressure as he felt his feet lift the ground.

There was such strength in the arms that held him, and Dick got confused. Was it white silk or red spandex under his cheek? He decided it was his father carrying him to the front doors of the manor, to finally leave the terrible place behind. He would turn around and Dick would be able to see Alfred through the window, his strict face losing its edge and breaking into a genuine smile, the same kind the boy was given upon his first day there. Dick would raise his hand and wave with a long and happy swing and Alfred would return the gesture, watching them both get farther and farther away from the looming estate.

And in front of them a large series of colourful trucks with his mother stepping through a door. Only then would Dick fall asleep.

**Author's Note:** Yes, hello, we know, it's been a very long time, we're sorry. Don't really know what happened here. But it was AmberSpirit who saved you. She wrote this chapter after I couldn't. But we will NEVER abandon this story completely. No matter how long the wait, there will be another chapter. I will finish this story if it kills me.


	42. The Boy In Training

_(re-uploaded for the link information)_

_**AN**__: Hey guys, AmberSpirit here. We have recently found a tumblr dedicated to this fic so you should all check it out! It's just "theboyinthemanor" dot tumblr dot com_

_Also I have made a fic playlist with all the songs we picked so why not check it out? They are pretty angsty so watch out lol_

_If you feel like we can add some more songs feel free to leave one in a review! Just search "the boy in the manor" at 8tracks dot com_

_And lastly there is another video based on this fic on youtube. It's called "Dick/Bruce angst under the pressure"_

_(links don't work on ff, sorry)_

Chapter 41: The Boy in Training

As Dick walked through the halls of the Academy again for the first time in two weeks, he kept his head down but his eyes up. There was an energy in the air as the students stressed over upcoming exams and excitedly made plans for the summer. Dick was glad - he didn't want anyone to notice him. The majority of the student body never had, but now it looked like they had forgotten he'd ever existed. Dick was fine with that. He was just afraid of the handful of people who did know him.

Of course he was looking forward to seeing Richard, but he was dreading the inevitable questions. He doubted the texting during his absence had totally convinced the senior, and now he would have to talk about it as if he had actually been sick. At least he felt like it, his body was still weak and he was sure he didn't look well as he shambled around. The older boy had always made Dick feel... lighter, and right now what he needed more than anything was a bit of distraction, some positive human interaction… Someone to just look him in the goddamn eyes.

Richard and the other boys on the gymnastics team would be a blessing. He knew they would be practicing every day now to get ready for the big recital at the end of the year, and while he wasn't sure if he would be able to join in, Dick expected to be allowed to sit and watch. He was barely a member of the team at this point, but he had the captain on his side.

But Dick knew he had enemies too. He'd always had, since his first day at the school. Specifically, he was keeping an eye out for McTravis' friends. They would know what had happened to the bully; the whole school probably did by now. Would they blame Dick? Would anyone who had been in that hotel room for their fight think it a little too coincidental that the eye McTravis was robbed of was the same one he had blackened on Dick? It seemed unlikely, but... Maybe McTravis had said something, now that he'd become so paranoid. Maybe his crew would be looking to put Dick in his place. Maybe the new leader would be looking to assert his dominance, carry on old traditions.

Or maybe the new boss wouldn't give a shit about Dick. Maybe he wouldn't give a shit about McTravis either. McTravis was gone, why should his successor care about him? He was old news by now, crazy and half-blind, forced to move across the country with no money to his name. Would anybody in this school even care?

For the first time since his enrollment in Allen Bex academy, Dick regretted not paying more attention to the internal politics of the student population. He had to hope that his status as Wayne's ward would keep on protecting him.

Dick found his locker, and began looking for the books he would need for his next few classes. He'd had to check his timetable that morning, having been away so long he'd forgotten it. The school had been notified that he would be returning today, so hopefully none of his teachers would make a scene when he walked in and his seat was suddenly filled again.

He glanced around, so far no one seemed to have noticed him.

As he closed his locker door and zipped up his bag, he felt a sudden loneliness yawn open inside him, which was just stupid. What had he been expecting, balloons and a band? Other people had their own lives that had moved on while he was trapped in the manor, broken. He only had one friend, and that friend had friends of his own. Of course he wouldn't have, what, come to school early, camped outside Dick's locker with a Get-Well muffin and a bottle of OJ?

Dick sighed, and pulled out his printed schedule. Which class did he have first again? Maybe if he walked slowly, he wouldn't be too pathetically early.

"Dick!"

The boy heard his name shouted and looked up. Further down the hall, Richard was shouldering his way through the crowd towards him, one hand up and waving, a huge beaming grin on his face, as bright as his hair.

"Wait!"

Dick stood stunned until Richard reached him. His fantasy was coming true?

When the senior reached him, he punched Dick in the arm and shoved him into the lockers, then swatted at his chest playfully, while emitting a kind of growl. It was like being greeted by an excited golden retriever. None of it hurt, not really, only a few pangs from the damage Bruce had done, and Dick managed not wince. Richard adjusted his bag on his shoulder, appearing to reign himself in and said, "Hey, welcome back, how are you feeling?"

Still, he had to look at the floor to hide the grin that stretched his cheeks as he was reunited with his friend. These were the kinds of moments he daydreamed about when trapped inside the manor's quiet halls.

"Fine," he answered, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a lie. Richard made him feel like that, like he was normal and there was nothing wrong with him.

"Good, good... Well, listen, I, er... It's a little lame but, I have something for you," Richard said, pulling a circle wrapped in a napkin from his jacket pocket and presenting it to Dick with his lips pressed together nervously, blue eyes flicking over the freshman's face to try and measure his reaction.

Dick took the gift self-consciously. "Thanks, you didn't have to..." he muttered politely. Ever since Bruce took him in, Dick started to associate gifts with a feeling of disgust and self-hate so it was strange to be put in a position where he was given a present by somebody he cared about. It felt more like it did with his parents, when he was taken over by a mixture of excitement and joy.

He turned the package over in his hands a few times, savoring the nostalgic feeling. Richard got him a present? How long had he had it? Or had he brought it especially today because he knew Dick would be coming back to school?

He unwrapped the napkin and found a chocolate chip cookie.

"You don't have to eat it now, but... I don't know if it's going to last much longer. My mom baked it last night."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She does that sometimes."

Home-made cookies. He thought of his own mother and that nostalgic feeling increased ten-fold. Dick began wrapping the present up again. For some reason, he didn't want to eat it yet – he wanted to save it. "Really? She didn't, um, seem the baking type, when I met her. I mean, wasn't she a model?" Dick wanted to keep the conversation going, but he wasn't sure how much he should say, how far he could go. He, more than anyone, knew what a sensitive topic family could be.

"Yeah, well... Every once in a while she gets this idea in her head, you know," Richard looked at Dick with his hand run through his hair, pulling it off his face. He must have seen that Dick didn't know what he was getting at, because he took a deep breath and pushed his hands deep into his pockets, dropping his eyes to watch his toe kick at the floor as he explained.

"...That she's like this terrible monster of a mother and I hate her guts and as soon as I move out I'm never going to speak to her again. And whenever that happens, she bakes cookies, 'cause what little boy doesn't like cookies?" There was a bitterness at the end there, but Richard forgot it as he caught on to what he had just said, jerking his head up to look at Dick, afraid he'd offended him.

"Not that I'm giving you my dysfunctional, 'love me' cookie or anything! Or that I think you're a little boy... This is coming out wrong, let me start again. I'm not giving you the cookie just to get rid of it 'cause I don't want it 'cause I hate my mom. I don't, I love my mom really, she's just, you know, a bit much sometimes and, I mean, you've met her, you know what she's like. But I was mad at her 'cause she'd hidden my car keys when she was drunk a couple of days ago and forgotten where she put them so I couldn't get to work, so I got fired-"

"You had a job?" Dick exclaimed in surprise.

Richard looked at him, apparently having forgotten that Dick hadn't known that and that he hadn't intended to tell him. "Oh. Yeah. Just a stupid student job, you know, no big deal. That was where I was coming from the night I had to… pick my mom up from you house. That wasn't the first time either, so they were already mad at me. I was barely holding onto it and then because of her...!" He took a deep breath.

"I was saving up for this summer. Just in case I... actually go for that audition, in New York, the Nox Ex one. Instead of college. As if that would ever happen."

Richard flushed as he dug himself deeper and got onto more and more painful topics. Seeing Dick again after so long seemed to have disarmed him, and now everything was all coming out in a rush. The boy wondered whether Richard talked about these things with anyone else. It was strange to see his confident friend stumble over his words but Dick didn't interrupt, interested in all the new information he had just received.

He remembered Mrs. Rawn's drunken words in the Midnight room about the unhappy state of her family. She was convinced her son hated her; at the time Dick tried to convince her it wasn't true but he had no idea about their family dynamics. Richard rarely talked about his mother and he didn't even know the senior had a job.

"Gah! It's just a stupid cookie! Why don't you just give it back, and we'll forget this word-vomit ever happened, okay?"

He reached for the wrapped cookie but Dick snatched it back on reflex, his body much faster than the senior's. "No! It's my cookie. I want it, and I'm going to eat it so get your own," he teased, holding the cookie behind his back. He was smiling but there was a hint of desperation in his movements; the boy found it almost unbearable to give back the present now that he received it in such an honest way.

Rather than sink to Dick's level and fight the younger boy for it, Richard conceded defeat and his lips widened in a smile.

"Fine. Selfish. See if I care. As long as you know that it's not like, a special cookie. I didn't give it to you because I like you or anything," he teased back, tousling Dick's hair and turning him in the direction of the classrooms so they could start walking.

Dick laughed. "Liar, we both know I'm your favorite."

They were both smiling now. It was strangely elating, being with Richard again after so long, like a narcotic. Dick had been waiting for this for two weeks. He wondered for a moment how he could hear that from Richard, that he didn't like him, and not break down in panic. It was because Richard was his friend. Dick could feel it, the boy _did_ like him. They were smiling and touching and there was nothing scary about it at all. It was nowhere near like his relationship with Bruce. The thought of his guardian not liking him anymore made him feel cold – the only thing keeping him alive would be gone. If Bruce lost interest, then...

Dick couldn't even imagine. He would either be killed, deliberately or because Bruce didn't care enough to hold back the next time he wanted to punish his ward, or he would be simply ignored, forgotten, left to gather dust like so many other possessions of the Wayne family kept in that house. Either way he would not be allowed to escape or given a chance at a life of his own, he knew that. He had seen too much, was too angry. And besides, Bruce wasn't the type of man to let anything go for free.

"Ooh, careful, don't let the rest of the team hear you say that," Richard replied. "But it's okay, I only like guys who actually come to practice and take part in the recital and, you know, win medals at the end."

"Hey, I was... sick..."

"Yeah, I know, I'm just messing around," Richard said, throwing an arm around Dick's shoulders and tugging him closer. The boy found this to be the right moment to ask for something he had been wondering about for a while.

"I know I've missed a lot of practice, but I'm ready to start again. I've been... working out at home, building my strength back…" he trailed off hesitantly. It was a lie; he was nowhere near ready for training, especially as intensive as the one Richard suggested for the upcoming recital but he wanted to participate regardless. He didn't want to think too hard about his reasons for the competition; it was most likely linked to that empty void inside of him that used to be occupied by his parents and his life at the circus.

"Really? That's cool. We can start slow so that you can get back on your feet properly. Coach would be focused on the recital anyway so-"

"No, I mean…" It was painfully obvious that Richard didn't even consider entering him in the competition in his current state. Dick couldn't really blame the guy; he had just recovered from what appeared to be a bad virus and didn't even have a month's worth of training.

"I mean I want to participate in the recital."

Richard's smile fell and was replaced by a deep look of disapproval. They stopped walking at this point, becoming the only two static figures in the hallway full of motion.

"I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea."

Dick pressed on. "You know I can learn the moves. You know how I fast I can be-"

"Oh, I know you can learn it alright but the training would be… intense. I mean you were really sick right now, Dick. I know you said you worked out at home but it takes such a little time to lose muscle strength," as he talked, one of his hand gripped Dick's arm as if to measure his power and the boy had to fight a wince. It hurt.

"I can do it. I'll train every day. I'll change my training routine, please Richard," he looked up at the boy, trying to show his sincerity, his need to have this chance of harnessing this gift given to him by his parents. Richard's hand was still gripping his arm but the grip was gentle now, almost a caress.

There was a small pause during which a new expression formed on the senior's face, one Dick hasn't seen before, but it was gone the moment he blinked.

"Shit. Okay," the blond replied tightly, looking away from him and the hand on his arm moved away swiftly. Dick brightened.

"You won't regret it. I swear I will win you a medal," he stated, excitement making his words rushed and Richard's serious face transformed into his usual sunny smile and he chuckled. They started to walk again.

"Wow, cocky much, circus boy? I know you're a Youtube celebrity but this is the real world and if we do this then we do it by my rules," he patted the boy on the cheek and while from other people the gesture might come as patronizing, Richard just made it look affectionate.

"Before we tell coach anything, we go over the routine together, got it? He will probably take you on anyway; you're the only one in our team who can compete in the junior class."

Dick nodded enthusiastically, already thinking about the possible training he will have to undergo.

"But before we do, I _need_ to know that you can handle this routine. The moment you start having doubts or start to feel weak, you tell me, ok?"

"Yes," Dick agreed immediately and felt guilty for lying to his friend like this. He didn't plan to stop even if he encountered problems; he would just have to grit his teeth and work through the pain. Fortunately that was a thing he had a lot of practice with.

They continued their conversation, planning the next training session and the possible routines that would play on Dick's previous experience in the circus. From his words it was clear that Richard was prepared to put a lot of time and effort into this and Dick hoped that it wouldn't affect the senior's own performance; he understood that this was Richard's last year to participate in the competition.

When they turned down a corridor, Dick realized Richard was walking him to his class; the senior classrooms were on the top floor and in the completely different direction.

"Anyway, I'll talk to coach about giving us access to the gym. I already have the keys but it's always better to let him know beforehand. How soon-"

"Tomorrow," Dick cut in, eager to start as soon as possible. Richard gave him a mock glare and a light shove to his shoulder.

"Hey, I have a life too, you know," he complained but his face looked amused and he continued to hold onto the boy.

"So, while I check my very busy schedule, why don't you tell me what you've been doing at home? I trust you weren't bedridden the _whole_ time?" The older boy asked him with a genuine look of concern.

"Oh, you know... I was pretty sick for a long time, didn't really do much. I spent the weekend in the gym though. Working out... Yeah, Bruce is actually, like, teaching me some stuff. Like, boxing, I guess?"

How to phrase what was going on in that gym? Self-defense? Martial arts? Whatever it was, Dick was painfully aware of what it had done to him the first time he'd tried it. It had felt good, but it had completely wiped him out. He'd cried, hit Bruce, then collapsed and been carried to his room. That was humiliating. But he'd slept without nightmares, woken up feeling stronger, and spent hours doing it again the next day, and the next, building his strength and his stamina each day, and always with Bruce there, teaching him.

"Whoa, really? Can't really picture Wayne doing that, but I guess you know him better than me, huh? You know, I always kind of got the feeling you didn't like him very much. I'm glad you two have found something you can do together, even if it is a little weird," Richard mused, his arm relaxed around Dick's shoulders, unaware of what his words did to the boy.

Dick forced a laugh. "Yeah... You know, I also saw this thing... Er..."

"What?" Richard looked at him.

But Dick couldn't think of the words. How could he ask Richard about McTravis? He probably didn't know anything Dick didn't, he probably didn't fall asleep in front of the TV and catch some weird late-night conspiracy theory show where the now one-eyed bully blamed Batman for his attack. And if Richard didn't already know about McTravis, _should_ Dick even bring it up? He didn't want to sound like a gossip, and maybe the best thing to do was to just let it go, at least as far as Richard was concerned. God knows it had unsettled him enough, he didn't want to do the same to his friend.

"Nothing," Dick said in the end, smiling to placate the senior. They'd reached his classroom anyway.

Richard took his arm away and stepped back, making a move to go find his own class. "Whatever, circus boy," he said with a wink. "I'll see you later."

"Get ready for tomorrow because I will _own_ you," Dick replied with a teasing smirk. He doubted that would be true; his body was in no state to impress anyone but the comment made Richard laugh and that was enough. A few seconds passed with people walking in the corridors behind them and the senior's face grew more serious.

"I'm glad you're back," he said finally and it felt as if he meant to say something else. The tone confused Dick but before he could reply Richard already turned and blended back into the crowd.

_Glad to be back_, he thought to himself.

The boy's slight confusion gave way to sudden nervousness at the prospect of sitting through class again. He'd missed so much, it would be just like when he'd first arrived, he'd be miles behind everybody, and exams were coming up at the end of the month. He didn't know when he'd have time to catch up, if he was going to work late at gymnastics practice every day, and train with Bruce when he got home. He supposed he could study during his lunch break, and then another couple of hours before bed... It didn't sound like enough, but it would have to do, because he wasn't willing to give up the team _or_ the self-defense lessons. He needed the power Bruce's training gave him, his only weapon once the man grew tired of training and went back to his old ways of violence.

And he wanted to show Richard he could give an extraordinary performance and impress everybody at the recital, to let the whole world know that the legacy of the Flying Graysons had not ended with his parents' death.

To show that he was still here and he was still a Grayson.

**o0o **

From that day on, the boy's weeks were spent in a constant blur of activity. He had hardly any time to stop and think; if he was not busy with Bruce's strict training, he was going over Richard's routine and perfecting it either in the privacy of the manor's gym or at school. The rest of the time passed with his head buried in his school books as he desperately tried to keep up with the classes and the lessons he missed during his absence. He slept like the dead each night and required additional two hour naps after his return from school to be even able to function; his appetite increased dramatically and he often asked Alfred for seconds and sometimes even thirds.

It was rather difficult to describe, it's not like Dick felt _happier_ being run down like a horse but he had to admit that there was a certain comfort and familiarity in this constant strenuous existence. If he was busy, if he didn't have the energy to stay awake at night and stare at the cameras in his room it was almost… easier. His thoughts didn't wander and Dick found himself lacking that terrible self hatred coursing through his chest whenever he imagined his future in Wayne Manor or the painful happiness of the circus. His insomnia was cured almost instantly.

Now the boy could only focus on things that were right in front of his eyes like the meal served by the butler or the maneuver that Bruce wanted him to perform. They were easy things, something he could do well without focusing too much on the big picture, like why Bruce wanted him to know these things and whether it was his responsibility to use this knowledge against his guardian the next time he decided to strike.

The man was a brutal teacher, always demanding more, never hesitating to demonstrate the weaknesses in Dick's defenses by penetrating them with a fist or a kick, but he'd stayed at Dick's level. The boy had hit the mats countless times, but it had been through his own mistakes, not because Bruce was trying to dominate him. They had sweated together, and progressed together. Dick was a fast learner, and while he didn't feel that he was particularly talented in the art of violence, Bruce's insistence to go along with the lessons made him feel as if he was becoming somebody more meaningful in his guardian's eyes, somebody or…_something_ he approved of.

Of course at this point he wouldn't be allowed to quit nor did he want to. The lessons were making him feel strong. He knew he was still nothing compared to his guardian, but one day, if he kept at it... One day, he could knock Bruce down. Slip a knife into a hole in his defense. Get him in a chokehold and keep him there. However these fantasies never went beyond the simplest imagining of the violent act; Dick knew there was a difference between performing a trained attack move and using it in a real life scenario.

Thinking hurt. Responsibility hurt. He kept telling himself that he was learning all this new knowledge to use it against his guardian later, when the time was right, when the man would reveal an opening and Dick would take an advantage and stab him in the back. (-_I still think people should try to help themselves, instead of waiting around for someone else to do it-_) He simply needed to learn how and that's why he was going along with the training.

It was simple to justify it to himself instead of contemplating the possibility that it was merely easier to go along with the instructions, easier to obey and focus on small simple steps to get him through the day. He found it difficult to summon any sort of anger when in the presence of the older man; the steady rigorous exercise left him pleasantly numb, as if he was removed from the rest of the world and the people that resided there. It drained him of any strong emotions and replaced them by physical needs such as thirst, hunger and exhaustion.

He stopped questioning things. He stopped asking why and simply accepted information at face value. Until something happened to derail him from his current track, he just didn't have time to think about McTravis or what he was going to do about the Wayne heir.

He had no free time. The moment he finished the next day's school assignments, his mind gave out and Dick fell asleep instantly, barely managing to make it to bed before flicking out like a candle. The instant he woke up in the morning he was already doing laps on the manor grounds, spending an hour every day before school on pure physical work out to strengthen his body. During dinner he would be almost asleep with his eyes open and barely taste the food, only caring about quantity.

He caught himself thinking about the different ways to disarm a person when sitting in class, looking at his teacher and thinking of the most efficient technique he could use to take him down. Other times his fingers were twitching as he imagined the grip on the bars as he went through the routine in his head, thigh muscles tightening in his seat as his body kept remembering the moves.

The only time he surfaced from this mindless existence was with Richard and his constant kindness. The senior put a lot of effort into helping Dick with his routine and they spent hours after hours on perfecting it even after Dick gained the coach's permission and assistance. His time with Richard was the only part of the day during which he had an actual conversation with someone and really _listened_. His friend's voice had the mystic power of pulling him from the sludge of apathy and allowing him to connect with another human being, no matter how briefly. It was only in Richard's presence that Dick remembered his motivation and reasons for his involvement in the recital. Each time they met the boy would be thrust into being, full of emotions and hopes, and every time he left, the mindless existence would once again submerge him in its never ending routine, its never ending path of goals to be achieved and deadlines to be met.

The competition was drawing near as days grew longer, with the Wayne grounds in full bloom as Dick passed them by every day.

His body started to recover and while it wasn't a dramatic change he noticed that he was getting stronger, or perhaps tougher. The familiar moves on the bars came easy to him now and he no longer felt any pain when he stretched. Dick's stamina was also improving drastically and he could now do five laps around the manor without stopping. Bruce's lessons now required protective gear. All of this felt like it should be important to him and his guardian showed satisfaction with his progress but to Dick, the only praise that registered at all was Richard's.

He sometimes wondered what he would be like if he never befriended the blond boy but the possibilities were so horrific he didn't even want to consider them. It was easier to think of nothing other than the next step, but the longer it went on, the stronger his feeling grew that it couldn't last. Something was going to happen, he just couldn't see what.


	43. The Boy's Chance

Chapter 42 – The Boy's Chance

_One, two, three, duck, kick, dodge, block, turn, attack_.

The rhythmic smack of fists against protective pads had successfully quieted Dick's mind again. That was why he loved it. When he was training with Bruce, it was like he went blind. He didn't see the billionaire standing in front of him; he didn't even see his own limbs moving. He didn't have to, he somehow knew just where everything was, like he'd developed a sixth sense for the objects around him. All he thought about was his next move, his mind totally taken over by the routines.

_One, two, three, duck, kick, dodge, block, turn, attack_.

He would do it for hours. Two hours every day of one-on-one training with his guardian, at least an hour of physical training on his own - including his morning run and agility exercises, stretches, weight work, and revision of everything he'd learned – if not more, then an hour of gymnastics practice every day in the manor gym, or two hours every other day with Richard at school. Lately he was eating like a horse and sleeping like a corpse.

And he loved it.

He finally felt in control. Everything was going better. His body was a constant twinging burn but it was strong and he was putting on weight and muscle. His schoolwork got done faster than ever to make time for the gym, and he had so much energy his grades were improving. And Bruce hadn't touched him since this whole thing had started.

Apparently, the work-outs were enough physical contact for his guardian, or maybe they tired him out. Dick didn't know and he didn't care. All he cared about was that he finally felt as if he was slowly dragging himself out of the grave he'd been struggling in for so long. It had only been a matter of weeks since he had rejected Bruce and been destroyed for it, but it was the longest reprieve he'd had since that first night in the forbidden room. The past year already seemed alien, distant, foreign, like a fading nightmare, or a horror film he'd been forced to watch over, and over, and over again until he forgot what was real.

Dick didn't dare tell himself it was over – in the back of his mind he knew that it wasn't, and hoping was too painful – but he could delude himself for now.

_One, two, three, duck, kick –_ Bruce's fist came out of nowhere and broke into Dick's side, sending him sprawling on the red rubber mat. The boy was too out of breath to cry out, instead taking the moment to rest, rolling onto his back as he clutched his throbbing waist.

"Your defence was open; never let down your guard. Don't become complacent in the routine, always be aware of what your opponent is thinking," Bruce chided him, offering down a large hand to help him up. Dick took it and was instantly pulled onto his feet with what felt like no effort of his own, as if his guardian wasn't affected by their session at all and still had all his strength.

Dick nodded and resumed his stance to begin the routine again. This time Bruce subtly increased the tempo, forcing Dick to move faster and faster. Then he began to move forward, driving Dick backwards and adding random swings of his own. Dick impressed himself with how fast he could move as he dodged the attacks, never losing his rhythm.

But then he started to get the feeling that Bruce wasn't just throwing out attacks for him to dodge, but that he was intentionally aiming for Dick, that he _wanted_ to hit him. Dick blocked Bruce's fists as best he could, but now he was starting to get scared. If one of the blows connected, it would hurt, yes, it would almost certainly lay him out, but Dick had been hit before, he had been hurt worse. It was the _intention_ that scared him. _Why_ was Bruce trying to hurt him _now_, and what would happen when he did? What did the man want?

Dick continued his retreat across the mat but now they seemed to be moving too fast, he couldn't keep up anymore. Dick knew he was panicking but Bruce wasn't giving him a chance to calm down. His breath was getting away from him, he couldn't breathe. He needed more air, more space, he needed more _time_.

Bruce was attacking him. He must be angry. Dick couldn't keep this pace up, he would slip. And when he did, Bruce would catch him. And when Bruce caught him? Would he beat him? Just beat him, or was this when everything would come back, when the nightmare became real, when the movie started playing again and he couldn't look away?

An image flashed in Dick's head: him on his knees on the red mat, sweating and gasping as Bruce gripped his hips from behind and –

His heel slipped off the edge of the mat and he lost his balance, falling on the floor. He quickly threw himself onto his back and rolled out of Bruce's path, his arms protecting his head. He heard the Velcro tear as Bruce removed the protective pads from his arms. Dick trembled, was it now? He dared to look, but his guardian was walking away from him, back to the equipment rack on the wall next to the door. Dick forced himself to his feet.

"That was good," Bruce told him. "We'll work on that more tomorrow." The billionaire looked back at him and held out an arm, gesturing him towards the door. Dick obeyed, stumbling closer. As they converged, Bruce gripped the back of his neck – not hard, not trying to hurt him, but still possessive, still controlling, like a leash. "Shower, and we'll have dinner."

Dick nodded. He couldn't speak.

The touch was like a brand, still burning his skin even when Bruce removed his hand and walked away. He scratched at it nervously, nails digging into the pale flesh as he thought about the sensation that washed over him; a cold ominous feeling that was similar to the night he visited the forbidden room for the first time.

He knew that the bad stuff was just waiting in the wings, on hold. Bruce Wayne didn't change, he didn't get better; Dick was just trying to avoid the problem and look the other way. He couldn't be cured and he would never stop. Dick didn't know why he had been allowed his brief respite, but he knew these training sessions wouldn't be enough in the long run. Bruce would get bored. This was just foreplay.

oOo

Dinner was the same, but Dick was still unnerved. He could no longer just hide himself in his exhaustion and hope that he was ignored in return.

The boy felt like crying, and once again that baseline of terror was back, thrumming through his head: _What should I do? What should I do?_ His options hadn't changed though, they were still awful. Escape was impossible, telling someone was suicide, if not murder, and fighting... Fighting hadn't turned out very well the last time he'd tried it, and even if he was improving every day, it wasn't a long-term solution. Even if he could fight Bruce off once, which he knew from experience that he couldn't - the man was too big, too fast, too strong - he would take him apart without bothering to put him back together afterwards and come back twice as hard the next time. There was still that other option that whispered through his head after all the others that Dick still shied away from. Murder was wrong, there had to be a better way, but he was starting to lose hope that he would ever find it.

But in every way other than what was going through Dick's head, dinner was the same. The boy ate heartily and quickly, hunching over his plate with table manners that made Alfred frown, but the butler wouldn't say anything as long as Bruce was there. The master of the house ate leisurely, his eyes on a tablet he held in his hand, probably going over the global financial situation, the stock market, or something for work.

Dick organised the evening's homework in his mind, even as his muscles remained tense from the underlying and unrelenting current of panic. He thought about what he had to do the next day, including the gymnastics meet with Richard. The recital was on Friday, and he had just managed to convince his friend and the coach to give him a place. They still seemed a little unsure about his participation but Dick was confident. He knew the routine and his form was perfect.

At this point, practice was about synchronising with the music and learning how the team organised these performances, and what was expected to happen. It wasn't just the parents who would be there, but talent scouts from all over the east coast and even cameras from some smaller sports channels. It was big deal for the team and the school, so Dick wasn't allowed to mess up, not that he would. Tomorrow was Wednesday, his last one-on-one with Richard. Thursday was the dress rehearsal. Any homework deadlines for the end of the week had been pushed back until after the weekend. Dick nodded to himself, confident that he had everything under control.

Bruce's phone rang, breaking Dick's train of thought. The billionaire looked at the display, frowned slightly, then left the room to answer the call. Dick hazarded a glance at Alfred, but the old man's expression was carefully neutral. Bruce could probably eat with his feet and Alfred wouldn't question it. The boy went back to his dinner.

A couple of minutes later, Bruce came back in, but he stopped in the doorway.

"Alfred, there's something I need to take care of. Will you call ahead for the jet and pack a bag?" he ordered briskly.

The butler bowed. "Certainly, Sir," he replied, and he disappeared. Dick turned at the sound of his name.

"Dick, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go away for a few days. I'm going to miss your recital, I'm sorry," Bruce said. He looked apologetic, but impatient, like he needed Dick to tell him it was alright so he could get back to what was really important, and if Dick didn't forgive him quickly he would leave without it.

"Okay," Dick said, unable to think of anything better. He had never really believed that Bruce would attend anyway. Bruce nodded and vanished back into the hall. Dick heard his voice fading as he made another phone call, presumably heading for his office.

Dick turned back to his plate, suddenly feeling... He didn't know what. Disappointed? Relieved? Happy? Scared? The dining room seemed very big, and very empty as he looked around. Silent. Alfred's abandoned serving cart looked cold and forgotten. Dick felt like he should eat his food quickly before it froze or turned to ash. He picked up his fork but his throat seemed to have closed up.

Why? He shouldn't care that Bruce wasn't going to see him perform. He hated Bruce. Bruce was not his _dad_, as much as he might have been acting like it recently. And more to the point, Dick never wanted to risk Bruce and Richard meeting. That could only end badly. Bruce brought evil wherever he went, anytime he and his ward left the manor.

And he should be happy that Bruce wasn't going to be in the manor for a few days at least. It meant peace for him, a chance to relax. Sure, he wouldn't have a sparring partner, so he wouldn't be learning anything new, but he had plenty of techniques to be going over and work on his body to do. It was a _good_ thing Bruce was leaving.

Except he always summoned Dick to the forbidden room to welcome him home.

Dick put his fork down on his plate. If Alfred was already calling for the jet, then there probably wasn't time for Bruce to want a going-away present, but there was nothing stopping him when he came back. Dick was fully healed from his last beating, he wouldn't have gymnastics taking up his time or tiring him out anymore, and there would be no more reason for Bruce not to leave bruises. So Dick would have peace for a few days, maybe a week if he was lucky depending on how big a crisis it was and how far away Bruce had to travel, but... he also had a deadline. The night Bruce got back, the bad stuff would start again. Dick had felt it that afternoon. Bruce was growing impatient, he was getting bored. The gym was fun, but the forbidden room was his favourite. That never got old.

And with a deadline, came a decision to be made. Dick had to come up with a plan. Last time he had refused, he had fought. He wanted to do that again, to never give in again, but... He had been _so_ broken. He was just now rediscovering his body, getting to work properly again, feel good again, and he knew that if he just went along with it without fighting... he could still have the same body in the morning. But every time he gave in, it cost him his soul, he knew that.

But what could he do? _What could he do?_ He could tell the press, but _how_? And Dick remembered what happened to _Gotham Gossip_ and the paparazzi 'News Ninja' that had published pictures of him back when no one knew who Bruce Wayne had adopted. He could try telling the police but would they believe him? Would they be _able_ to rescue him? Bruce owned the city and everyone in it. It was Dick's word against _Bruce Fucking Wayne's_, and if they asked Alfred, Dick knew what the old man would say: whatever Bruce wanted him to.

Dick gave a physical shudder and his mouth turned down in a grimace all on its own when he thought about everyone _knowing_. The police would ask him _everything_. They would want to know every tiny detail about every single time, why he didn't tell anyone sooner, why he didn't fight more.

What if they thought he wanted it?

He imagined Richard's face when he found out.

Dick almost cried. He didn't want anyone to _know_, goddamn it! He just wanted it to stop! The thought of Bruce touching him again and somebody else knowing made him want to die.

So he had to run away. That was the only option, no matter how impossible. If he couldn't fight and he couldn't tell, he had to run away. But where to? And how? How would he escape Alfred and the army of guards and chauffeurs? And once he made it outside, what to do about money? Food?

And if Bruce caught him... It would be worse than anything he had been subjected to before. He couldn't even imagine what Bruce would do to him. He didn't dare think he might be lucky enough to simply be killed for his defiance, no. Bruce had shown him that he knew how to punish without killing, and that he would never, ever give Dick up, even if he had to keep him locked in the forbidden room forever. Dick almost didn't want to take that chance. It seemed impossible, with the cameras in his room watching his every move, to find out what he needed to know before he even stood a chance of escaping Bruce. He couldn't run. He didn't know how and he had nowhere to go. Bruce owned the city and _would_ find him, and then Dick would wish he was dead.

It didn't look like anyone was coming back to the dining room. Forgotten, Dick took his plates through to the kitchen and left them by the sink, then went upstairs to do his homework, as expected of the Wayne heir.

oOo

The next day confirmed that Bruce had indeed left. There was no sign of him at breakfast, and the house had a quiet, empty feeling to it. Alfred never went that extra mile to please when it was just Dick. The boy ate his breakfast in total silence, his mind churning over his obligations and his opportunities. Was it his _duty_ to take this chance to try to save himself, despite the immense risk? Could he live with himself if he didn't?

As he was driven to school by another stone-faced and nameless chauffeur, Dick tried to think of a plan, tried to find the loophole that would allow him to escape. What would happen if he just leapt out of the car at the next stop and ran into the crowd? Would the driver chase him? Call for help? The car slowed to a pause in some heavy inner-city traffic, and Dick slowly pulled on the handle of the door, just to test.

He expected to have to act surprised and make out like the door opening was an accident, but he pulled the handle until it stopped and nothing happened. Unbelievable. He was locked in. This was worse than he thought. If this was a new protocol, it could indicate that they, Bruce or Alfred or both, were expecting him to try to escape. If that was the case, then his odds of succeeding had just dropped to next to nothing. If his captors were suspicious, prepared, then he wouldn't get twenty feet, but he would still get his punishment for the attempt. But he couldn't just _leave_ it! He couldn't do _nothing_!

He brought his hand to his mouth and began to bite his nails.

The rest of the day passed quickly. When he was in class, he was totally focused on his work, unable to switch off his recent frenzied attitude. Every other free moment, a sick feeling would swell up in his stomach and he would remember that every minute he did nothing was a mile he could be putting between him and Bruce.

God, he was so pathetic! After _everything_, he still didn't have the balls to even try to save himself. But it was like he couldn't put the last beating behind him. Just thinking about running made his muscles ache as if his body remembered the damage that had been done to it. Any plan he tried to make, his body would remind him how much it had hurt the last time, as if his fear had soaked into his very cells. He wasn't even confident that he _could_ run, he felt as if his legs might collapse beneath him, betraying him in an effort to limit the eventual damage. He hated himself and his stupid indecision and fear that was costing him the best chance he'd had in a year to end it all.

He kept making excuses. He'd leave the school at lunch, then no one would be looking for him until after the end of the school day and he'd have a couple hours' head start. But then at lunch he remembered his gymnastics session with Richard that he had planned for after classes. The thought of running, of leaving forever without saying goodbye to the one person who had kept him sane and been the only good thing in his life for the past few months gave him a physical pain. If he ran now, he'd be abandoning the show that was so important to his friend. He'd be letting him down; Richard would be so hurt. He'd think Dick had done it on purpose, had lied to him about wanting to be in the show, that Dick hadn't taken it seriously. That he'd just been playing around, maybe even that Dick didn't care about their friendship.

Okay, the end of the day then. He would see Richard in the school gym one last time, and even if he couldn't tell the senior anything, Dick would know he was saying goodbye. He would make Richard understand that he was serious, both about the show and about their friendship. It was the best he could do.

Knowing he wouldn't do anything until he saw Richard, Dick was able to calm down. It still didn't seem real though, that he was giving up his first and only friend. Dick had done a lot of leaving in his life, always moving from place to place with the circus, but never like this. Dick hadn't liked moving around because he never had a chance to build anything permanent. Living with Bruce was the longest he'd ever stayed in one place, and as terrible as his time in Wayne Manor was, he actually had something to leave behind this time.

As the school slowly emptied after the last class, Dick finished getting changed in the empty locker room. He could see Richard's stuff already in an opposite corner of the room. He didn't know what he was going to say, or if he was even going to say anything, but he was okay with that. For once, he wasn't nervous - just sad. It didn't matter what he did since this was the last time he was ever going to see the older boy, as long as he did _something_. If it didn't come naturally, he would force it. Richard had to know what he meant to Dick.

The boy moved to the entrance of the gym and stopped, just to watch. Richard was standing by the asymmetrical bars in a shaft of sun coming in from the high windows, chalking his hands as he waited for Dick. His unitard showed off the muscles of his torso and arms as fine clouds of chalk swirled about and clung to the golden hair on his forearms. He had the body of a professional: tall, broad shoulders, the kind of body Dick was years away from if he would ever get it. Once again the difference between them occurred to Dick, but this time it didn't hurt so much. It would make it easier to separate from the blonde, knowing that he had never belonged in his world anyway.

Dick took a few steps forward and Richard looked up and smiled, an expression that could break hearts.

"Hey, there you are," he said. "I was beginning to think you'd stood me up." Richard's grin turned crooked and teasing as he propped his forearm against the apparatus beside him.

"Well, you're not quite there yet, you still need a little help," Dick teased right back.

"Oh-ho," Richard's eyebrows shot up at the challenge. "Getting cocky, aren't you, circus boy?"

"Just calling it like I see it."

"Oh yeah? Well, _I'd_ like to see you on these bars, smartypants." Richard laughed and went to start the music. Dick went through his routine almost without thinking, it came so naturally to him. When he finished, Richard was watching him with his arms folded, nodding. Dick looked to him for his opinion. The senior shrugged. "No complaints," he said.

"You mean a perfect ten," Dick said, dropping onto the mat.

"You do okay, _for your_ _age_," Richard tossed back. Dick looked affronted as Richard meandered past him to lay his hand on the lower bar almost lovingly, his expression wistful. "Man... The year's almost over. I'm _graduating_. Can't say I'm going to miss this place exactly, but..." Richard looked at Dick. "And you!" he continued playfully, obviously faking a light-hearted tone. He punched Dick softly in the shoulder, then slid a couple of fingers under the shoulder strap of Dick's unitard to straighten it out. "You're going to be stuck here for three more years after I'm gone." He ran his thumb over the strap so it lay flat against Dick's skin. "Sorry about that."

Dick could feel his heart beating. This was the moment Dick had wanted to create, but Richard had beaten him to it, and he was _apologising_. And Dick _understood_. Unlike everyone else, Richard knew what life at the Allen Bex Academy could be like if you didn't fit in. Richard felt guilty about leaving _him_, when less than an hour ago Dick had been trying to console his own feelings about abandoning Richard. Did that make it better or worse, that Richard was feeling the same way? Would that make Dick's betrayal come as a relief, or hurt all the more?

Dick looked up at Richard as the older boy finally took his hand away, letting it hang limply at his side as he looked at the ground, one arm still gripping the bar. For the first time, Dick thought that actually, this boy was more similar to him than anyone he had ever met. They were feeling the same thing at the same time and they didn't even know it. They both wanted to escape, and yet they both had something they didn't want to leave behind. They were both scared about what would come after they gained their freedom.

Dick was suddenly struck by the strongest urge to touch another person that he could remember ever having. He wanted to step forward, close the gap, and hug his friend. Their height difference meant that his head would come to rest comfortably on Richard's chest, under his chin. He wanted to comfort the older boy, and gain comfort in return from his warmth and strength. But he didn't move. That kind of action... Dick suspected he'd lost it forever.

"It's okay," he offered in return instead, his voice quiet and breathy, not sure who he was talking to anymore. "Just have to be brave."

Richard smiled weakly at him. "Yeah, you'll be okay." He sounded like he was reassuring himself more than Dick.

It got quiet then, and Dick cleared his throat to break the tension. He nodded at the apparatus. "We done here?"

"What? You've only done the routine once!" Richard objected, his voice stronger now that they were back on familiar territory.

"Yeah, but you know I know it," Dick said. "Why don't we just go back to your house?" The words were out of his mouth before Dick even realised he'd had the idea. It was stupid, it was dangerous, but Dick would never get another chance. And Richard had offered in the past, hadn't he? And with Bruce out of the city...

Richard looked at him a little shocked, "My house?"

Dick had to force himself to push the issue instead of retreating as he normally would have. "I mean, you said you have a gym there, right?"

"Yeah, um..." Richard pressed his lips together and looked away as he seemed to think about it. He was clearly reluctant, but Dick didn't want to let him refuse – not today. He told himself he could have this. He could try leaving the city afterwards, or maybe, in a perfect world, after the show on Friday so he didn't have to let Richard down. After all, he didn't know when Bruce would be back, but he knew his guardian's business trips could last a week, especially when he had to take the jet. "It's just... My mom, you know?" Richard clarified uncertainly.

"So what? I've met her before. I like her. She's nice. I don't care if she's drunk," Dick argued. Richard flinched, but when he next met Dick's eyes the younger boy thought he saw a little hope in them. Dick had one last card to play. He wasn't above guilt-tripping. "You've been to mine."

Richard let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that's true, I guess. And I did offer before. You just want to practice?"

Dick shrugged. "We can hang out a bit too." He tried to make it sound casual. It must have worked because Richard gave a small smile.

"Okay, come on then, circus boy," he said, giving in and shoving Dick towards the locker room. "Let's get dressed and I'll drive us home."

Dick smiled too. The practice session wasn't scheduled to end for another hour and a half. That should be early enough that the chauffeur wouldn't be outside waiting to take him back yet. He would already be at Richard's by the time Alfred heard he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and then what would happen? They couldn't just abduct him from Richard's, and Dick hadn't known the old man to give those kinds of orders before anyway. He would phone the butler when the time came, just before the old man could think he'd run away, and explain to him that he was going to have this. He was going to hang out at his friend's house. There was a good chance that he would never be able to escape Bruce, and that if he ever tried he would be tortured for it, so he was going to have this one afternoon. The worst Alfred could do would be to tell Bruce, and by the time the billionaire got back, Dick would either be gone, or in serious shit anyway.

oOo

Dick kept his phone on and in his pocket, and kept track of the time. He still had time to spare when they arrived at Richard's house. It was in a neighbourhood Dick didn't know, but Dick didn't know many. The house was nice, very nice. On its own, Dick would have called it a mansion, if maybe a small one, but because it seemed to be in some kind of wealthy suburb where every house was the same size, it lost some of its impressiveness. Richard pulled onto a sloping driveway and parked. Dick followed the older boy silently into the house, where the senior dropped his keys onto a small table and immediately scanned the adjoining rooms, presumably to see if anyone was home. When he didn't find his mother passed-out in her bathrobe on the floor, he seemed to relax.

Dick hovered awkwardly by the door, unsure where to put his bag or his shoes. Richard turned back to him and smiled, saying "Just leave your stuff under that table," then he too slung his schoolbag under the table then crossed to the stars to sit down to take his shoes off. Dick leant on the front door for support and got the job done a little less gracefully.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Richard asked, standing up and leading Dick through a living room to the kitchen. The house was surprisingly clean and tidy given how Richard had acted about it. There were very few items to be seen that actually proved the place was lived in. The walls were all white, the living room furniture cream leather, the staircase a dark, polished wood. The kitchen had white cabinets, dark grey granite counters, a black marble floor, and spotless metal taps. The ceilings seemed to be unusually high throughout the house. It looked like it had come straight out of the catalogue.

Richard opened a large stainless steel fridge. "Juice?" he asked, pouring himself a glass and setting one up for Dick, who smiled in reply. As he took his first sip, his eye fell on a large glass jar against the wall full of a variety of cookies. Some of them were a little burned, and none of them had a regular shape, being too big or lumpy or flat. It looked like there were many different batches in there too, every single one a failed attempt at domesticity, but still offered up to be eaten instead of just thrown away.

Dick found himself thinking things he probably shouldn't have, like who insisted on keeping them. Did Mrs Rawn cry over every failed attempt, or was she too drunk to see that her creations didn't match the pictures in the cook-book? Dick knew why she kept making them, Richard had told him she was trying to be a good mother, but did she actually think she succeeded or could she just not think of any other way to get her son to love her again? Maybe they kept the cookies because Mr Rawn refused to waste the ingredients, no matter how inedible the final product might be, or maybe he didn't even notice them.

Of course Richard noticed him staring. "Cookie?" he offered sarcastically, not even bothering to reach behind him for the jar.

"Yes, please," Dick replied. He wanted to take some cookies out of the jar just on the off-chance that if either of Richard's parents noticed the difference, they might think that their son appreciated his mother's efforts.

When Richard held the large, heavy jar out to him, Dick put one in his mouth and two in his pocket. Richard didn't comment, and Dick wasn't sure if the older boy had figured out what he was doing.

"So," Richard began, before draining his glass. "You want to go straight to the gym, or do you want the grand tour?"

Dick took his time chewing through his cookie and washing it down with juice before answering. Working on his gymnastics was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn't admit it.

"Tour, I want to see your room," he said eventually.

"Easy, Tiger," Richard murmured as he led Dick back out of the kitchen. Dick pulled out his second cookie and started on that as he followed behind.

He had to stop Richard when they walked past some framed photos on a bureau.

"Ooh, photos," Dick said, smirking wickedly, making Richard groan.

There was a variety of photos on the bureau, most of them clearly official school photos. About half of them were of Richard through various stages in his life, wearing the familiar blazer of the Allen Bex Academy in four of them, and a grey sweater with another coat of arms in the rest.

"Is that you?" Dick asked teasingly, unable to stop himself from picking up a photo of Richard where he looked to be eight or nine. His hair was paler, his eyes were larger, and his face was chubbier. His teeth looked a little too big for his lips, and was that a gap from a missing tooth just visible in the corner of his smile? Dick was only half-teasing when he fawned over the photo; the boy was ridiculously cute.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Richard blushed, leaning over Dick to take the photo out of the boy's hands and put it back with the others.

Dick looked for the youngest-looking blazer photo. "Is this your freshman year?"

Richard looked over Dick's shoulder. "Er, yeah, I guess."

Dick tried to compare himself to the boy in the frame, but there was none to be made. Richard looked so young, almost buried in his square new blazer. Did Dick look like that?

He looked at the other photos. Buried at the back, leaning against the wall, was Richard's parents' wedding photo, but Dick thought it would be wiser to leave it alone. Instead he pointed to a photograph of another blonde boy.

"Is this your brother?" Dick asked.

"Yeah, that's Robert."

He looked remarkably similar to Richard; both were blonde with blue eyes and large easy smiles. His face was a little thinner though, bearing less of a resemblance to their mother's softness, and he looked like he was taller. The largest photo showed him in a cap and gown, presumably graduating from the Academy. Another in a polished wooden frame showed him in his gymnastics uniform, standing in front of the equipment, with the rest of the team kneeling around him. On the end to the side was Richard, looking much smaller than he did now.

Dick considered everything he knew about Richard's brother. He had gone to Allen Bex too, being in his senior year when Richard was a freshman, which would make him twenty-two now. He had been captain of the gymnastics team, and won awards, before he was kicked out for being gay. Now he had escaped Gotham and the Rawn family, and Dick hoped he was happy, wherever he was.

Dick jumped when his phone rang in his pocket. Shit! He'd forgotten to call Alfred! He looked apologetically at Richard as he dug it out in a panic, excusing himself to another room to take the call. Chances were, he didn't want Richard overhearing what might be said.

"Alfred, I'm sor-"

"Master Dick, where are you? Your chauffeur has just informed me that you are not at the school." The butler's voice was crispy cool with anger, but the tremor might have been fear.

"I know, I know, I meant to call you..." Dick expected to be interrupted, maybe shouted at, but nothing came, and he trailed off as he realised he hadn't prepared anything to say.

"Yes?"

"I- Okay, listen." Dick decided to go for the firm approach. "I'm at Richard's house, and I'm staying."

"...Staying?"

"Ah! I mean, I'm not coming home, not right away, so don't bother sending the driver here. Bruce is away, so I'm going to have some fun for once. I'm going to hang out with my friend. And practice gymnastics for the recital tomorrow," he added quickly, just in case. "I don't care what you do, but I'm having this, for _once!_"

Dick ran out of steam and out of argument, and as the silence on the phone stretched longer, he began to fear he'd really done something wrong. He expected to be told that the driver – no, an army of them – were on their way to physically drag him back to the manor, where he would be punished. He was just on the verge of opening his mouth to apologise and beg, when Alfred spoke.

"Very well," came the cold, measured response.

"What?" Dick gasped.

"Very well, Master Dick. I will expect you home at a reasonable hour. Contact me when you are ready and I will send the chauffeur. If you do not, I will send him anyway, do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes, I understand," Dick answered hurriedly, flabbergasted.

"Good. Will you be home for dinner?"

Dick looked at his watch. "No...?" He wanted to stretch this afternoon for as long as he could, and the few hours until dinner just weren't enough.

"Very well, then."

There was a pause as it seemed the butler had run out of things to say.

"Alfred? _Thank you_," Dick said.

"You are welcome, Master Dick. However, I will have to tell Master Bruce when he returns, you understand."

Dick's heart dropped. "...Yes, I understand." So that was it. Alfred wasn't taking him into his confidence after all, they weren't sharing a secret, they weren't in this together... This was just a delayed sentence. One afternoon of shore leave to the outside world when the master was away. Dick would still get his punishment, Alfred wouldn't take any risks for him, but if Dick was going to do the time, Alfred was going to let him do the crime. It was the best he could, or would, do. He probably hoped that Bruce would get tired of his constant disobedience and put him back where he found him. Dick wished it was that easy.

"Then I will see you this evening," Alfred almost threatened. He presumably knew what would happen to him if he let Bruce's toy get away. It wouldn't be as bad as what would happen to Dick if he failed to escape – it wouldn't be physical, no way; hell, he probably wouldn't even lose his job – but it would hurt the old man. Alfred would rather saw through his own thigh than disappoint Master Bruce, sole son and heir of the great and noble Thomas Wayne.

"Goodbye."

Dick hung up, his gut churning. He felt elated, ecstatic, but also terrified. He had got his afternoon with Richard, but at what price?

He pushed through to the other room where Richard was waiting for him. He looked deep in thought, and Dick noticed he was chewing over one of Mrs Rawn's flat and charred cookies. Richard looked over when Dick came back in and stood up.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, just letting HQ know where I am," Dick replied. That sounded cool and carefree, right?

Richard laughed a little. "Yeah, imagine what would happen if they lost you," he said as Dick walked towards him. When the younger boy was close enough, the senior put his hand on the back of his neck and steered him through to the hall where the stairs were. "It would be the manhunt of the century. Bigger than the Lindbergh Baby."

"Who?"

"Never mind," Richard sang, clearly used to Dick not getting any of his references at this point.

As they went upstairs to Richard's room, Dick swallowed hard.

oOo

Hours later, Dick was sitting on Richard's plush leather sofa, chewing his lip and spinning his phone in his hand. The couch was ridiculously deep and plush, with lumps and grooves that told Dick that it had had years of good use. The room was dark, the curtains having been closed when it was still day, but evening was falling and Dick knew he would have to go home soon.

The TV crackled along with the film Richard had put on. _Fight Club_, the one they had talked about on the school trip. Dick wasn't watching, he wasn't really interested, all he saw was one guy hurting another guy for no apparent reason, and then, wait what? They were the same person? Urgh, whatever. He'd never really cared about movies.

Richard was asleep next to him, his body leaning towards him but not yet fallen. Dick was ok leaving him like that. He spun his phone in his hand and chewed his lip.

Earlier, in Richard's room, they had been on the computer. Richard had been showing him videos on some website, leaning over him to get to the keyboard as Dick sat in the only available chair in front of the PC. One thing led to another, and Dick... he'd actually managed to pull up enough courage to want to see the videos of him and his parents, performing at the circus. He'd never done that before. He hadn't seen a single photo or video of his parents since they'd died. Now he was starting to forget what they looked like. And with Richard there, out of Wayne Manor, he thought he could handle it. And he kind of wanted to show off.

So Richard had typed "Flying Graysons" into the search bar... but nothing came up.

"That's so weird," the senior had said, "That usually gets them. What was the name of the circus again? Let me try that..."

But search after search came back empty. No results. Frowning, Richard did some navigation Dick didn't understand, which produced some fuzzy black boxes that said the video had been deleted, or that copyright claims had forced the site to take them down.

"Oh, well... It happens, I guess..." Richard had concluded, leaning back.

But it didn't sit well with Dick, and now that he was, for all intents and purposes, alone, he had spent the last half-hour of Richard's nap figuring out how to search the web on his phone. But it wasn't just the video site that had been affected. A search for "The Flying Graysons" produced a link to a Wikipedia article that had been taken down, old announcements of the circus's tours, some image results for publicity posters for the circus that didn't have any pictures on... Dick read quickly over the newspaper archives from the night of his parents' death, but his name was never given since he was a minor. There were only ever phrases like "They leave behind a teenage son," or "Their son survived the accident." Dick had had to take a break after that.

After searching and searching, he found more and more empty spaces where things had been deleted or blocked somehow. He was starting to recognise the pattern too. His parents hadn't been erased... He had. A search for their names individually came back with a lot less blanks than when he searched for "The Flying Graysons" as a whole. And when he searched for his name? Nothing. The results were all for some other Dick Graysons, or two guys called Dick and Grayson. Not even the Gotham Gossip story was still accessible. No photos either.

As he sat, spinning his phone and chewing his lip, he thought of one last thing of all the things he could search for. Pulling up the website, he typed in "Robin." It had been a stage name of sorts. Maybe Bruce didn't know it. But no. None of the results were of him. Robin was gone, he didn't exist anymore. He and Dick Grayson had vanished, totally untraceable.

Dick let his hand fall into his lap and his head fall against the back of the sofa. This couldn't be a coincidence. He had been wiped from the world at large. It had to be Bruce. Only he had the power to do that, and only he would want to. But why? Was it still just about possession and secrecy?

Maybe it was so that no one would ever be able to find Dick. Yeah, that sounded more likely.

Dick sighed and glanced at the fading glow of the curtains. He had to be home soon, or Alfred might send someone to drag him back. Dick leaned his face against the cushion, looking at Richard. He knew he might not ever see him again after the performance, not if he managed to escape Bruce. Oh well, the blonde was beautiful, smart, brave, he would have a good life. Dick didn't flatter himself that Richard would be hurt for very long by his disappearance. He was graduating soon, so they would have had to split up anyway. Richard had a life waiting for him, Dick didn't, that was why he had to do this.

"Oh!"

Dick spun around as he heard a woman's voice behind him. Mrs Rawn was standing in the doorway, wearing a pale blue robe that seemed to absorb and glow with the light from the TV. The material was thin and hung off her body with a structured elegance that made her look like a classic movie heroine. She had a flute of something pale in her hand, but she put it down on the bureau beside her as she came forward.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know we had company or I would have come down sooner," she apologised. "I was in the bath," she told him and smiled.

"Uh, that's okay, I really..."

She reached the back of the couch and looked down at Richard, sprawled where he sat, face leaning towards Dick in sleep, the TV making shadows jump on his handsome face. She made a moue of maternal indulgence. "Did my son fall asleep on you?" she said, straightening his blonde hair by touching only the surface with her long nails, as if she didn't dare run her fingers through the waves. An intense pain gripped Dick's heart as he watched, and he had to look away.

"It's okay, he must be tired from training and everything, and I should be going now anyway..." Dick said, pulling himself awkwardly out of the suction of the deep sofa.

Mrs Rawn acted as if she hadn't heard him, continuing to stroke her son's hair so gently that he didn't wake, moving her head as if she was humming a lullaby without sound. Dick fled to the hall, looking for his shoes and bag while he tapped out a brief text to Alfred to send a car for him.

From the living room, he heard Richard wake up. "Aw, Mom, come on! Geez... Touching me while I sleep - I'm eighteen!" The senior's voice was nervous, a little high. "Hey, where's Dick? Did he go home already?!"

Dick looked up to see his friend stumble into the hall and stop. He straightened up from putting his shoes on.

Richard cleared his throat, "You're leaving?"

Dick wriggled his wrist, as if drawing attention to his watch. "Yeah, well, you know, I gotta get home," he said awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, totally... Well, thanks for coming over anyway. Sorry I fell asleep like a total..." He didn't seem to have a word or the enthusiasm to end that sentence.

"It's okay, I don't mind."

Richard came closer. "But we would have had more time otherwise."

Dick's throat closed up and he could only nod and he looked at the floor, trying to swallow whatever it was. He had the lame urge to shake Rickard's hand; instead he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and kept both hands on the strap. "I'll see you tomorrow," he managed finally, his voice thick. He knew it sounded like something casual they might use to say goodbye, but to him it felt like an apology. They still had tomorrow, if never again.

Richard smiled his crooked grin and reached out to slap Dick's shoulder. "Yeah, big day on Friday," he said.

"Yeah..." Dick could only agree as he contemplated everything he would have to do, how his life might change forever, and how his friend could never know.

For a moment, his eyes focused on Mrs Rawn where she stood behind her son at a respectful distance. He watched her take a gulp from her glass and smile at him. He wanted to tell her to take care of Richard, to hold him every single day and make sure he knew he was loved unconditionally.

"Goodbye, dear, and good luck in the recital," she said politely, raising her glass to him briefly. Dick wondered if she remembered any of the conversations they'd had while she was totally drunk.

"Thanks," he said.

Before he could say anything else, the doorbell rang, and the boys moved to open it. One of Wayne Manor's many faceless, nameless chauffeurs was on the porch. Dick nodded goodbye at his friend, then turned and went with him.

oOo

On his way home, Dick kept staring at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The face looking back at him was not of somebody he recognized; there was a set determination in his eyes accompanied by hardened bitterness.

He thought about his picture in the papers, the grainy photos of the Flying Graysons performing in the air, the videos of him bowing proudly with his parents. That smiling face was gone now. Dick Grayson was a ghost now and all that remained was this hidden Wayne persona that threatened to swallow him whole. His parents…would they have recognized the face he was wearing now? With his expensive uniform and sharp look in his eyes…would they have still called him handsome? A true Grayson? Would they still call him their son?

When Dick arrived back at the manor, Alfred was waiting for him in the hall. Not angry, just cautious. Watching.

"I came back," Dick said, for lack of anything better.

Alfred nodded, his expression tight, and he wouldn't look at the boy. He just inclined his head in a slow bow and said, "Do you require anything?"

Dick looked at the old man, contemplating all the infinite things he could say. In the end, he just went upstairs without answering, knowing the butler didn't really want to help him.

0 o 0

**The Alchemist's Daughter:** Ok, so, obviously, apologies for how long it took. My fault again. I tried to make it up to you by making this chapter longer than usual. We're building up to stuff happening.

Also:

_AN: Hello, AmberSpirit here. I just wanted to write a small reply in reaction to a rather large amount of reviews we have been getting that talk about Bruce's and Dick's relationship._

_This story is mostly about abuse and emotional manipulation. There is no romance between Bruce and Dick, despite the fact that this story is in a romance category. This was done because of its sexual nature and the fact that most non-con fics are put there and paired with the angst tag. _

_It is fine to see the unhealthy abusive aspect of their relationship and enjoy it because you simply like unhealthy relationships with fucked up power balance. Heck, some of my favourite ships are abusive and definitely not healthy. What is NOT fine however is to look at this story and see Bruce's and Dick's relationship as something romantic or loving. Bruce is an abuser and no matter what he does or what his reasons are…this doesn't change. There is no excuse for Bruce's actions even if Dick consensually entered the relationship. _

_We get a lot of reviewers talking about how they want Bruce and Dick to get romantically involved and I'm sure that a lot of you simply enjoy the fucked up aspect of this fic and want to see more. However I still want to make it clear for the small amount of readers that are not aware of this: The Boy in the Manor IS NOT A ROMANCE STORY. Bruce's and Dick's relationship is harmful, abusive and definitely not something that will evolve into a love story, so please make sure you don't romanticize it. Thank you!_


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